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THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE 

EMIGRANT. 


I 


THE FORTUNES OF A 
LITTLE EMIGRANT 


BY 


/ 

MARY E. MANNIX 

Author of "The Tales Tim Told TJs," '‘The Chronicles of 
‘The Little Sisters,’” etc. 



NOTRE DAME, INDIANA: 
THE AVE MARIA. 


TW O COPIES R ECEl V EO, 

Library of . ' 

Offlad 0 f \ 

FPR^7 1900 

of Copyrl^bfs^' 


54397 

Copyrighted, by 
D. E. HUDSON. 




Ai, 


V(^>x ^ 
^ I V » 

\ o o . 


CONTENTS. 


I. — A Chance Meeting, . 7 

II. — Good lyUck, . .17 

III. — Home and Friends, . 27 

IV. — The First Week, . . 37 

V. — Happy Days, . . 48 

VI. — An Unfriendly Encounter, 58 

VII. — Some Perplexities, . 69 

VIII. — In the Park, . . 79 

IX. — Friends and Foes, . 90 

X. — On the World Again, . 10 1 

XI. — A Discovery, . . 112 

XH. — A Mutual Surprise, .124 

XHI. — Arrested, . . 134 

XIV. — In the Station-House^ 145 

XV. — After- Thoughts, . . 157 

5 


6 


CONtENfS. 


XVI. — Friends in Need, 

XVII. — An Inquisition, . 
XVIII. — Reggie Curtin’s Secret, 

XIX. —By Strategy, 

XX. — Further Explanations, 

XXI.— Good News, . 

XXII. — Two Tetters, 


170 

185 

199 

212 

225 

236 

253 



The Fortunes of a Little 
Emigrant. 


I. 

A CHANCE MEETING. 

t T was seven o’clock in the morning, 
and scarcely light — for the month 
was October. A little boy was 
trudging along one of the “down 
town” streets of a large Western city, a 
stick over his shoulder, from which was 
suspended a small bundle. He wore a 
coarse suit of clothes, much too large 
for him; stout shoes were on his feet; 
and beneath the foreign-looking round 
grey cap which covered his bronze curls 
a pair of eyes looked out from a freckled 
face that could only have belonged to 
a native of— 

“ That Green Isle beyond the sea, 

Whose children, wheresoe’er they be, 

Rise up and say, ‘ God bless her! ’ ” 

A night policeman, just about to go 


8 


THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


off duty, stood at the corner waiting 
to be reh ■ d. The odd appearance 
of the boy aiu. acted his attention. 

“Helloo!” he said. “Where are yon 
going, youngster, and what have you 
in that bundle? ’’ 

“I don’t know where I’ll draw up 
yet, sir,” replied the boy, pausing in 
his march and touching his cap respect- 
fully. “I have an old coat and vest 
here, with a change of linen; and I find 
this the easiest way of carrying them.” 

“That’s all right,” said the policeman. 
“I didn’t suppose there was anything 
contraband in the bundle. But you’re 
not long over, are you ? ” 

“About three months, sir. I’ve 
tramped it nearly all the way from 
the time I landed.” 

“Looking for some one, maybe? ” 

“No, sir: only seeking my fortune,” 
said the boy, with a cheery laugh, 
which showed a double row of white 
teeth, as perfect and even as a set of 
pearls. 

“But you haven’t found it yet. Eh ? ” 

“No, sir; but I’ve learned a great deal 
as I came along.” 

“How old are you ? ” 


A CHANCE MEETING. 


9 


“Thirteen last Candlemas.” 

“You are small for your age.” 

“So much the better,” said the boy, 
shifting the bundle from one shoulder 
to the other. 

“Why is that? ” 

“People are kinder to me on account 
of my being a little chap.” 

“There’s something in that,” was the 
rejoinder. “But why didn’t you stay 
in the East? ” 

“Oh! I thought I’d follow the star 
of empire, sir,” said the boy, with a 
roguish smile. “Sometimes I saw an 
American paper when I was at home; 
and I fancied, to tell you the truth, that 
this part of the world was but sparsely 
settled.” 

“Parts of this Western region are 
wild wastes still. But the cities are 
crowded.” 

“Yes? It looks like it. Still, I believe 
one has a better chance here. And I’m 
none the worse for my travel, and what 
I’ve learned on the way.” 

“That’s so. What’s your name ? ” 

“Michael O’Donnell, sir.” 

“A good old Irish name, sonny. Never 
deny it or be ashamed of it.” 


10 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


The boy looked upward. “God 
forbid!” he said, with gravity. 

“Are your father and mother at home 
in the old country ? It isn’t likely 
they’re in this, or you wouldn’t be 
travelling about alone this way.” 

“They’re in the best country, sir, — 
God be merciful to them!” answered the 
boy, reverently lifting his cap as he 
spoke. 

The policeman had boys of his own— ■ 
they were not like this one. A lump 
rose in his throat. 

“You are a fine little fellow,” he said. 
“’Tis a pity you’d be spoiled; but you 
will be. What brought you over at 
all?” 

“Didn’t I tell you, sir?” replied the 
boy, once more, bright and cheery. “I 
came here to seek my fortune. I have 
neither brother nor sister, nor any rela- 
tive that I know of, in Ireland, worse 
luck. I was bound to a farmer; he beat 
and abused me. But that was not 
wonderful, for he did the same to his 
wife. So I borrowed ten pounds and 
ran away.” 

“From whom did you borrow it? ” 

“From Father John Magee, the parish 


ACflANCE MEETING. 


11 


priest. ^Twas he advised me to it. 
Once, in better days, my father had 
helped him over some strait; and he 
said it was only my due. But I didn’t 
look at it that way. I only borrowed 
it. I’ll pay it back to him, never fear.” 

“I believe you will,” said the police- 
man, with emphasis. ‘‘And now, lad, 
suppose you come home with me and 
have some breakfast? ” 

“Thank you kindly, sir!” said the boy. 
“I’ll be glad to go. And I’m better 
pleased than I can tell you to have met 
a fellow-countryman so early in the 
morning. ’Tis a good omen, I’m think- 
ing.” 

“And how did you know I was 
that?” inquired the other, with a 
hearty laugh. 

“By your face and your speech, sir,” 
said the boy. “They can’t be mis- 
taken.” 

At this instant another policeman 
came in sight. 

“This is my relief,” remarked the 
boy’s friend. “We’ll be off in a minute.” 

“Running in this kid?” asked the 
newcomer, looking critically but not 
unkindly at the boy. 


12 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Oh, no!” returned the other. “This 
youngster is going to be mayor of this 
town some day. He’s a traveller and 
not down on his luck either. He’s 
coming home to breakfast with me 
now. Want to get a clinch on him, 
you know.” 

“Long lost relative?” laughed the 
other policeman, as he eyed the boy. 
He was a “native son,” and not partial 
to foreigners. 

His colleague, quick to see the impli- 
cation, replied somewhat dryly: “May- 
be. Can’t say yet.” Then, suddenly 
changing his tone, he made a few ex- 
planations concerning an affair that 
had occurred while he was on his beat; 
and, turning to the boy, he said, “Come 
on, sonny!” leading the way briskly 
down the avenue which stretched out 
from the side street where they were 
standing. 

There was not a little surprise in the 
house of Donovan when the husband 
and father made his appearance in the 
comfortable kitchen, where the family 
were gathered around the breakfast 
table. But the wanderer was speedily 
made welcome, taken off to the shed 


A CHANCE MEETING. 


13 


by one of the older boys for a wash, 
and soon found himself dispatching 
buckwheat cakes and coffee to the equal 
gratification of himself and his enter- 
tainers. 

‘‘You have a great many tasty dishes 
in America that we never see in Ire- 
land,” he remarked, after the pangs 
of hunger were somewhat appeased. 

“But I’ll wager you haven’t made 
free with many of them, Mike,” said 
his host. 

“I have fared pretty well,” said the 
boy. “Somehow, I happened often at 
a house of entertainment where they’d 
be wanting a boy for one thing or 
another, and that always got me a 
meal; and, nine times out of ten, when 
I’d go up to the desk and offer my six- 
pence — or whatever you have instead 
of it, I believe it’s a dime, — they 
wouldn’t take anything. They have 
kind hearts in America, I think. And 
the farmers are always generous on the 
road; at least I’ve found them so.” 

“Most of them are,” said Mrs. Dono- 
van. “But it was your pleasant smile 
that did the business,— yes, and your 
honest face, my boy, ” 


14 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


MicHael blushed and let his eyes rest 
on his plate. 

‘‘Thank you, ma’am,’’ he said, simply. 

The boys — there were three of them — 
snickered. 

“Silence!” said the father. “You 
don’t know manners when you see 
them. — Had you any money at all, my 
little man?” he inquired; “or have you 
any now? ” 

“I had three pounds when I left New 
York,” said the boy. “I have nearly 
a pound in my pocket yet.” 

“So it cost you only ten dollars to 
cross the continent?” said Mr. Dono- 
van. “Where did you sleep nights ? ” 

“Mostly in bams and under hay- 
stacks,” replied the boy. “I was 
warned in New York to keep shy of the 
towns if could, for fear they might 
put me in the calaboose. Though why 
they should do that and I not miscon- 
ducting myself I can’t understand. 
I’m sure, sir, if all policemen were like 
yourself, there wouldn’t be much dan- 
ger of it.” 

“Or every tramp like yourself,” re- 
joined Mr. Donovan, quickly. “And 
wher^ did you sleep last night? ” 


A CHANCE MEETING. 


15 


“In the freight house, sir, behind a 
heap of boxes.” 

“It’s a wonder you weren’t routed 
out of that,” said the other. “But I’ve 
an idea you were bom to luck.” 

The meal finished, all prepared to go 
about their several avocations, — the 
boys to school, the mother to her house- 
hold duties. Michael rose and picked 
up his bundle. 

“Well,” he said, “I’m off; and I’m 
much obliged to you all.” 

“Where are you going now?” asked 
the policeman. 

“I’ll try to find something to do,” 
said the boy. “I can’t do better, I’m 
thinking, by going farther. I may as 
well stay in this place if I can.” 

“I don’t know but you’re right, my 
boy. It’s worth while making a trial 
of it. And if all else should fail, remem- 
ber you’ve friends in this house. Isn’t 
it so, mother? ” 

“Yes,” she replied. “Come and see us 
as often as you can. You’ll always be 
welcome.” 

Michael looked around for the boys. 
They had hardly noticed him, and had 
gone without a word of leave-taking. 


16 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


He was surprised, not realizing that 
they resented the introduction of a 
‘‘tramp kid,” as they privately named 
him, into the house. He had not cared 
for them; but the father and mother, 
of a simpler and kindlier generation, 
had commended themselves to his liking. 

“I thank you from my heart,” he said, 
not without emotion. “I’ll be glad to 
have some place where lean find friends. 
Good-day to you both!” 

“Good-day, and good luck, and God 
bless you!” said the kind-hearted Irish- 
woman. 

“The same from me,” interposed her 
husband. 

And then little Michael found himsell 
on the road once more. 



II. 


GOOD LUCK. 

When Michael left the house of the 
policeman it was with the well-defined 
intention of establishing himself some- 
where, if possible, before the close of the 
day. With this end in view, he walked 
up and down the principal streets for 
a couple of hours, his pack still on his 
shoulder. Unconscious that he was an 
object of curiosity to a few, at least, 
of the surging crowd that hurried past 
him, he paused at intervals to look into 
the show-windows; occasionally cast- 
ing a glance through the doorways, 
where well-dressed and busy men and 
women were engaged in their various 
avocations — all aleii:, all eager, it 
seemed to him, to please and satisfy 
their customers. Once, when he had 
stood for a moment on the threshold 
of a splendid dry-goods establishment, 
wondering whether within its limits 
there could be found anything to do 

17 


18 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


for such a little fellow, he was suddenly 
startled by a shrill voice, and the next 
moment a hand was laid upon his 
shoulder. 

“Well, well, youngster! What do you 
want round these quarters ? ” 

Miehael looked up to find himself con- 
fronted by a very tall man, arrayed in 
what seemed to the boy magnificent 
attire; hair parted in the middle, com- 
plexion dazzlingly pink and white. 

“If he wasn’t so big, I’d take him 
to be a woman in man’s clothes,” 
thought the boy; but he only said: 
“I’m looking for a place, sir. Maybe 
you’re the proprietor, and you’d be kind 
enough have something for me to do.” 

The man, who was the shop-walker, 
laughed loudly as he answered: 

“Yes: there’s a partner wanted here, 
of course. You can have the position 
if you go home and change your 
clothes.” Then, altering his tone, he 
added: “Be off with you, Paddy! Your 
place is down at the wharves. You’re 
a runaway sailor, a bolting ship’s 
apprentice.” 

“You’re greatly mistaken, sir,” replied 
the boy, reddening. “I’m no runaway 


GOOD LUCK. 


19 


of any kind; but youVe put a thought 
in my head, and I’ll go this minute. 
Good-day to you, sir!” 

Turning about hastily, he directed his 
steps toward that portion of the city 
which lay fronting the water, indicated 
by the outlines of the masts and spars, 
seen through the opening of the streets, 
against the sky. 

“Sure he was right,” he reflected, as 
he went briskly along. “What call have 
I to any such fine place? Or what 
could I do in it, where they’re all ladies 
and gentlemen walking about and 
standing behind the counters ? And I 
don’t know either that I’d care for 
the like of it. A warehouse would suit 
me better; and I’d have a better chance 
there, too.” 

Large warehouses and factories lined 
the busy thoroughfares through which 
he was now walking. The streets were 
alive with traffic— bales, crates, barrels, 
and boxes covered up the sidewalks, 
leaving little room for passers-by. The 
pungent odor of salt-water filled his 
nostrils. From the cool, dark distances 
of immense store-rooms came spicy, 
sugary perfumes, the fresh aroma of 


20 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


wheat and flour, the scent of wool, the 
strong smell of hides. His heart began 
to fail him; he had not the courage to 
enter any of these imposing, if gloomy, 
buildings; there seemed to be no place 
for him in any of them — so far as 
appearances went. 

Up and down the long squares that led 
to the wharves he passed and repassed, 
gazing in wonder at the huge wagons 
and drays loading and unloading in 
front of the cavernous doors. At length 
he paused at the comer of a street 
leading up from the landing. It seemed 
devoted to shops of a less pretentious 
nature than those which faced the levee. 
Perhaps here there might be some kind 
of opening for him. Pondering, he 
walked slowly up the hill, which 
ascended sharply from the wharf front. 
Then he paused, arrested by a sign 
which stretched across the width of a 
small shop. “Michael O’Donnell, Ship- 
Chandler,” were the words that met his 
eyes. He straightened himself, flushed, 
smiled, then laughed outright. 

“’Tis a good omen,” he said, boldly; 
and opened the shop door without any 
hesitation. It was a dark, uninviting 


GOOD LUCK. 


21 


place enough; the floor uneven and 
grimy, the shelves lined with ship’s 
stores of every kind. A little old man 
wearing two pairs of spectacles — one on 
his eyes, the other on his forehead — 
glanced up sharply from a ledger in 
which he was writing. 

“What’s wanting? ” he asked, making 
a motion to rise. 

“Are you Michael O’Donnell, sir?” 
inquired the boy, respectfully, cap in 
hand. 

“I am, and who may you be? ” replied 
the old man, with a quizzical air. 

“I’m Michael O’Donnell, ’’said the boy, 
with one of his bright, flashing smiles. 

“O’Donnell is by no means an uncom- 
mon name,” rejoined the old man, 
com.ing forward to meet him. “You’re 
no kin of mine, though,” he continued; 
“I regret to say that I haven’t a rela- 
tion in the wide world.” 

“No, sir: I didn’t think it or expect 
it,” answered the boy. “But I’m not 
long from Ireland, and I’m looking for 
a place; and — and — ” Much to his own 
surprise, the clear young voice was sud- 
denly drowned in a half-smothered sob. 

“Oh, tut, tut, boy!” said the old man. 


22 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“It’s but natural you should be a bit 
down-hearted in a strange country. 
Sit there, my lad,” pointing to a chair 
near the stove, — “just sit there and tell 
me all about it.” 

It is needless to relate what the reader 
already knows. Suffice it to say that 
little Michael had fallen upon an 
opportune moment in the house of the 
ship-chandler. He was without an 
assistant, needed one; and after a few 
preliminary questions, by which both 
were satisfied that all connection 
between them ended with the similarity 
of names, the two immediately assumed 
the relation of master and employee. 
Michael was to run errands, drive the 
wagon which stood, accessary to a lean 
horse, outside the shop door, and make 
himself generally useful. 

“I’m no spring chicken,” said the man 
to himself, as he scanned the honest, 
open face of the boy, — “I’m no spring 
chicken, but I’ll deserve to be called 
one if that boy isn’t all he looks to be. 
I’m in luck this time surely, or I’m 
wofully mistaken. A poor Irish lad, 
too, — so much the better. ’Tis a Provi- 
dence of God, I’ve been so beat and 


GOOD LUCK. 


23 


harassed by them legions of rascals 
that’s gone before him. — But there is the 
question of lodging you,” he said aloud. 
* ‘You’ll have to sleep somewhere, my 
boy. As for the board, I could make out 
to give you a bite here. But no: that 
wouldn’t do either. I’ll give you a line 
to Mrs. Olsen. She’ll take you in, I 
think; ’twill be a help to the poor 
woman. But we haven’t said a word 
about wages. Fifteen dollars a month 
— will that suit? Ten dollars will pay 
your board and lodging, and the other 
five will do you for clothing. You’ll not 
need to spend money for anything else 
yet a while. And you’ll have to clean 
and stable the horse; I forgot to 
mention that.” 

Michael was well satisfied. Tired of 
tramping, glad to reach any haven, he 
accepted the offer for what it was 
worth; and it seemed very good to him, 
as it really was. His cheerful counte- 
nance and pleasant voice gave evidence 
of the fact. The rest of the morning 
was spent in learning the details of his 
new employment; which, being neither 
intricate nor numerous, he grasped 
quickly. 


24 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGEANT. 

At eleven o’clock a large purchase was 
made by an outgoing sea-captain. 
Michael was told by his master to take 
the articles to the wharf, the captain 
mounting the seat beside him to show 
him the way. He executed this errand 
with such dispatch as to win the com- 
mendation of Mr. O’Donnell, who was 
standing in the door rather anxiously 
waiting his return. At midday a lunch 
of bread and cheese was brought from 
behind the counter, of which both 
partook with great relish, a glass of 
water being the only beverage used 
to wash it down. 

“I am a .teetotaler myself,” said Mr. 
O’Donnell; “and my advice to you is 
to be the same. I’m a Father Mathew 
man, and I’ve never regretted the day 
I took the pledge.” 

He was pleased to learn that Michael 
had done so before leaving Ireland. 

The day passed quickly, and Michael 
thought he had an easy and pleasant 
job. He was naturally very orderly, 
and soon had the shop looking trim and 
neat, using the broom in sundry corners 
which had long been strangers to its 
ministrations; piling up goods sym- 


GOOD LUCK. 


25 


metrically; and washing and polishing 
the front and back windows, which had 
sorely needed attention of that kind. 
The old man looked on complacently, 
assenting to every suggestion of the 
boy, while he sat behind the long 
counter, smoking his pipe between the 
going and coming of customers. 

At four o’clock it was almost dark 
in the long, low-ceiled shop. Mr. O’Don- 
nell rose and lit the fly-specked lamp 
which hung from the rafters. 

“I’ll have to wash that tomorrow, 
sir,” said the boy. “There’s nothing 
like a bright-burning lamp and a clean 
chimney.” 

“You’re right, boy,” said the old man. 
“It has needed that for a longtime, I 
assure you.” Going over to the desk, 
he scribbled a few lines on a scrap of 
paper and handed it to the boy. “You 
needn’t stay any longer today,” he 
said. “Being a stranger, you’d best get 
settled before nightfall.” 

“But hadn’t I better put up the 
shutters before I go ? ” asked Michael. 

“No,” replied the old man: “I always 
do that myself. Take this bit of a note 
to the place I’ll show you. Carry your 


26 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


bundle along. I know you’ll get lodging 
there.” He opened the door, and, step- 
ping out on the walk, pointed to a tall 
building standing on the comer, two 
blocks farther up the hill. ‘‘That’s the 
house,” he said. “Go up the outside 
stairway, and along the porch till you 
come to the third door. Knock there, 
and ask for Mrs. Olsen. If she’s not 
in, wait. If there’s any reason why she 
can’t take you, come back here. If you 
don’t. I’ll know it’s all right. Come 
tomorrow at seven. Good-night!” 

“Good-night, sir, and thank you!” 
replied the boy, warmly. 

A moment later Michael went whist- 
ling up the hill, his pack once more 
across his shoulder. The old man 
watched him until he had passed the 
first crossing, a smile on his weather- 
beaten face. Then, with a sigh, he went 
in and closed the door. 


III. 


HOME AND FRIENDS. 

Micliael had no difficulty in finding the 
room to which he had been directed by 
Mr. O’Donnell. His knock at the door 
was answered at once by a tall fair- 
haired woman, neatly dressed. A child 
of three or four years was clinging 
bashfully to her skirts. A girl about 
Michael’s age, or a little older, was 
ironing at a table in the kitchen, open- 
ing from the other end of the room. 
Flowers bloomed on the window-sill; a 
pretty rag-carpet covered the floor; 
everything was very neat and clean. 

He handed the note to the woman, 
who called her daughter. 

“Come here, Lena!” she said. “Read 
what it says in this. — Please sit down,” 
she continued, placing a chair; at the 
same time taking the boy’s stick and 
bundle out of his hand. 

This kindly act, as well as the 
pleasant expression of her face, prepos- 

27 


28 THE FOETUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


sessed him in her favor at once. A 
genial glow snlfused his features; he 
began to wish fervently that Mrs. Olsen 
would take him into her family. 

“It is from Mr. O’Donnell, mother,” 
answered the girl, after glancing at the 
note. “He asks you to take this boy 
as a boarder, to oblige him.” 

Mrs. Olsen surveyed the little fellow 
with a kindly, if somewhat critical, eye. 
She seemed pleased, and after a slight 
pause said: 

“Well, I will certainly do that to 
oblige Mr. O’Donnell. He is a good 
man and a good customer of mine. I 
have done his washing now for five 
years. Yes, you may come, little boy.” 

“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Michael. 
“As soon as I came in I hoped you 
would take me. Everything looks so 
nice and comfortable here.” 

“Your mother is dead, maybe?” 
asked the woman. 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Michael. “Father 
or mother I have none. I am a lone 
boy, just from Ireland. Came to 
America to better my fortune.” 

“All of us came for that,” observed 
the woman, with a sigh. “Some fare 


HOME AND FEIENDS. 


29 


better, others worse. My husband died 
soon, or it would not have been so 
bad for me. But we are not so poorly 
off, — working hard, it is true; but still 
with enough to eat and something to 
spare. What is your name, child ? ” 

“Michael O’Donnell.” 

“You are of kin to Mr. O’Donnell? ” 

“No: it was just a providence that led 
me to his place. I saw his sign over 
the shop and went in. He was in need 
of a boy and took me.” 

“Well, that was good for both, I hope. 
Poor man! he has had much trouble 
with boys. They have run away, or 
they have been idle or saucy. One or 
two have stolen from him.” 

“Well, I hope none of those things will 
happen to him or to me while I am with 
him, ma’am,” said Michael. 

“You look a good boy. I hope as you 
do. I like Mr. O’Donnell; he is a good 
man. This house belongs to him; we 
rent it of him.” 

“He must be rich to own this big 
house,” said Michael, in great surprise. 
“I wonder he doesn’t live here instead 
of stopping in the shop night and day, 
as he says he does,” 


30 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


‘‘He has not long owned it/’ was the 
reply. “He has bought it very cheap 
at auction. Before that he has lived so 
long in the shop that he likes not to 
change. He is a good man. Only re- 
spectable people are living hete. He 
charges not too much for rent, and 
he is not hard like some landlords. 
Oh, no, no! I could not disoblige Mr. 
O’Donnell.” 

The little child, whom Michael now 
saw was a boy, put his hand on the 
new-comer’s knee. The girl had gone 
back to her ironing in the other room. 

“Why, you’re a fine little fellow,” said 
Michael, taking the chubby hand in his. 
“You’ll be a great help to your mother 
some day, please God!” 

Mrs. Olsen smiled and replied: 

“I hope he will, my little Gustave. 
Come Michael: I will show you where 
you will sleep.” 

Leading the way into a narrow entry, 
she opened the door of a small room, 
scarcely larger than a closet, but so 
nicely fitted up that Michael exclaimed: 

“Why, this is elegant! It looks for all 
the world like a seaman’s place, ma’am; 
everything so complete nnd tidy,” 


HOME AND FRIENDS. 


31 


was a sailor’s room,” answered 
the woman, enjoying his pleasure. ‘^It 
was my nephew’s. He is now gone to 
sea. He is a mate on the Princess 
Alexandra. For two years he left the 
sea; but again he got tired of land, and 
now he is gone.” 

“And this is where I’m to be put? 
Oh, I’ll be very happy here, ma’am, 
I know.” 

“I believe it,” said Mrs. Olsen. “Now 
my daughter and I must go to take 
home some clothes we have washed and 
ironed. If Gustave may stay with you 
I will be glad; and when we come back 
we shall have supper.” 

Michael put out his arms to the child, 
who jumped on his knee. 

“We’ll be all right, ma’am,” he said, 
beginning to dance the little fellow up 
and down to the tune of “Gentleman 
going to market, — trot, trot, trot!” 

“So it looks to me,” said his hostess, 
as she took her departure. 

After he had exhausted himself and 
the child with his lively play, Michael 
put him down, and, approaching the 
window, drew up the shade. Mrs. 
Olsen and Lena were just going out 


32 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


of the gate, carrying a heavy clothes- 
basket between them. 

“’Tis too bad the poor creatures 
should have to do that,” he said to 
himself. can do that business for 
them — or some of it, anyway, — here- 
after.” 

Then he turned once more to survey 
and examine more closely the charming 
little room he was henceforward to call 
his own. After I have described it to 
my readers as well as I can, I have no 
doubt they will share in his admiration. 
To begin. The window was spotlessly 
clean; the lower sash was hidden by 
a pair of thin white curtains, which 
could be drawn aside, giving an outlook 
on the roofs and spires of the neighbor- 
hood, with a glimpse of green in the 
distance — a small bit of the City Hall 
Square. The floor was covered with 
cheap matting, chequered white and 
green. The walls were painted green, 
and a few neatly-framed prints were 
hung in various places. On a bracket 
stood a pot of ivy, which had been 
trained over the walls till it formed 
a graceful border nearly all around the 
four sides, A little table, made of 


HOME AND FEIENDS. 


33 


an inverted paeking-box, with rougb 
wooden legs, stood in one eorner, 
eovered with a red eloth whieh entirely 
eoncealed the humble origin of this piece 
of furniture. A brightly-polished brass 
lamp completed the effect. At one side 
of the table two boxes had been placed 
one on the other, and painted white, 
forming a receptacle for clothing. In 
front was hung a white curtain, similar 
to that on the window. A clean towel 
with a red border was laid across the 
top. A small row of books stood up- 
right against the edge, on which a 
narrow board had been nailed. 

The bed — a good spring cot — stood 
in one comer, invitingly white and soft. 
A triangular washstand with painted 
tin basin and pitcher, and a lower shelf 
for soap, brush, combs, etc., filled the 
next corner. A little towel-rack was 
screwed into the wall above it. In the 
fourth corner half a dozen hooks for 
clothing had been inserted. Across this 
space, triangular also, stretched another 
curtain, red like the table-cover. On the 
floor inside it stood two small boxes: 
one for boots and shoes, the other for 
soiled clothing, — at least, that was the 


34 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT, 


purpose for which they had been placed 
there by the former occupant, and 
Michael was not long in putting them 
to the same use. A camp-stool at the 
foot of the bed, and a comfortable, chair 
with carpet seat and back, near the 
window, completed the furniture of the 
room. 

Michael without delay unpacked his 
small bundle. He hung his clothes in 
the corner closet, and laid his extra suit 
of underwear and hose in the impro- 
vised bureau. There was ample space 
on the broad shelves for many more 
articles than he had ever owned. Then, 
taking the little fellow by the hand, he 
cast one more admiring look around 
before returning to the sitting-room, 
which presented another scene of thrift 
and comfort. The crumb-cloth in the 
middle of the floor showed that this 
was the dining-room and sitting-room 
combined. The table was covered with 
a red and white cloth. A three-cornered 
cupboard with bright glass doors 
displayed an array of dishes of various 
kinds. The fire was laid ready for 
lighting. A canary sang blithely in its 
cage near the window. Through the 


HOME AND FRIENDS. 


85 


lialf-opcn kitchen door came the pleas- 
ant odor of a savory stew, which Mrs. 
Olsen had prepared before going out. 
Another door led into a room the size of 
the sitting-room, where Mrs. Olsen and 
her children slept. The kitchen opened 
on a covered porch, where she did the 
washing, — thus keeping the heat and 
steam from the other apartments. 
Michael thought he had never in his 
life seen anything so delightfully clean 
as the simple abode of this poor 
laundress; and, indeed, nothing could 
have been more so. 

Presently the door opened to admit 
Mrs. Olsen and her daughter. 

^‘You’re tired, ma’am,” said Michael. 
‘Tn future we’ll arrange that I’m to do 
that work for you. I was loath to see 
you carrying that basket through the 
streets.” 

“Oh, we’re used to it I” said Mrs. 
Olsen. ‘^And, besides, it takes two to 
carry it. But you’re very good to 
offer.” 

“Never mind. We’ll settle it, ma’am,” 
said the boy. 

Lena said nothing, but the bright 
smile she gave Michael was evidence 


36 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


that she also appreciated his proffered 
kindness. 

Mother and daughter now hurried to 
put supper on the table. All brought 
to it both good cheer and appetite. 
The evening passed in pleasant conver- 
sation; and at nine o’clock the little 
family knelt to say the Rosary and night 
prayers, which Lena read from a well- 
worn “St. Vincent’s Manual.” But 
that was not enough for little Michael. 
After he had gone to his own room he 
fell upon his knees once more, and 
poured out his grateful heart in a 
prayer of love and thanksgiving to the 
Father of the fatherless, who had led 
him from his native land to this New 
World across the sea, shielding him 
from dangers and perils, and bringing 
him at last, after he had traversed 
many a weary mile, to the sweet posses- 
sion of home and friends. 


IV. 

THE FIRST WEEK. 

Micliael slept well, and was awakened 
in the dttsk of an October morning by 
a gentle tap at the door. It sent a 
thrill to his boyish heart, for he was 
alert in an instant; and it reminded him 
of the dead mother who had been wont 
to wake him in the same manner. He 
was ready in fifteen minutes, and yet 
had taken ample time to wash, dress, 
arrange his neck-tie neatly, and say 
his prayers fervently and recollectedly, 
on his knees. To be sure, they were 
short, consisting only of an offering 
to God of all the thoughts, words and 
actions of the day; an Our Father, Hail 
Mary, and Memorare, which he never 
omitted night or morning. They occu- 
pied, perhaps, five minutes; but that five 
minutes was the keynote of Michael’s 
day. The most “advanced” of my 
readers may now be tempted to turn 
from further perusal of what they are 


38 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


apprehensive is to be a ^‘goody-goody ” 
story. Yet they can not but admit that 
even a very few short prayers said at 
the bedside, or in front of some 
pious picture or statue of Our Lady, 
make one feel in better trim for the 
work of the day than jumbled aspira- 
tions said here and there between 
intervals of the toilet. A brief personal 
experience would make this very clear 
to anybody. 

Michael was just ready to come out 
to breakfast when his kind hostess 
again knocked at the door, saying, in 
her quaint, soft English: 

“Will you soon be coming, Michael? 
At seven you must be there, and it is 
now nearly half-past six.” 

“I’ll be there, ma’am, this minute,” 
replied the boy, whisking the bedclothes 
from his cot as he spoke, and opening 
wide the window, which had been only 
lowered from the top during the night. 
For, in spite of current fictions about 
“the Irish,” and glowing recitals of the 
manner in which they live in their 
“miserable hovels,” cleanliness and 
fresh air are the secrets of their buoyant 
health; and Michael had been reared by 


THE FIRST WEEK. 


39 


a mother who was sweet as a flower, in 
a home where the very pots and pans 
were ornamental in their shine and 
polish; so he was better able to appre- 
ciate his present surroundings than 
many another lad less fortunate. 

The coffee and bacon were on the 
table when he entered the kitchen with 
a cheery “ Good-morning, all ! ” He was 
greeted with a hearty response from 
mother and daughter. Mrs. Olsen was 
standing near the stove baking buck- 
wheat cakes, the appetizing aroma of 
which was especially delightful to the 
hungry boy, who had only once before 
tasted that sine qua non of American 
breakfast dishes. 

“And what are these, ma’am he 
asked, as his hostess put two large 
brown and smoking cakes on his plate, 
reaching across the table for the syrup 
as she answered: 

“They are buckwheats. In your coun- 
try you do not have them, I think, nor 
we in ours; though we have others 
which we like. But this is a great 
American dish. Some say it is not 
healthy, but I don’t know. It’s mighty 
nice for breakfast in cold weather. But 


40 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


you don^t drink your coffee/’ she con 
tinned. “Maybe you like tea better?” 

“Itrjr to like coffee,” said Michael; 
“but, somehow, I can’t seem to fancy 
it like the tea. In Ireland we take very 
little coffee, — I never cared for it. But 
I’m learning to drink it, and no doubt 
after a while I’ll like it.” 

“You don’t need to if you don’t want 
to, Michael,” replied Lena, rising quickly 
from the table and producing a teapot 
from the back of the stove. “Mother 
always drinks tea for breakfast since 
she has been subject to bad headaches. 
The doctor told her it was better.” 

Before Michael could make any pro- 
test, his cup had been removed and 
another substituted, filled with fresh, 
fragrant tea; while more hot cakes were 
placed before him, over which Mrs. 
Olsen poured the delicious maple syrup, 
which Michael had overlooked. 

“First you put on the butter,” she 
said; “then the maple syrup, which is 
again of America. That is how we eat 
buckwheat cakes. And boys are always 
fond of sweet things, any way.” 

Michael was not slow to respond to 
her kindly efforts. 


THE FIRST WEEK. 


41 


“It wouldn’t take me very long to get 
accustomed to them, ma’am,” lie said. 
“I think they’re the finest things I ever 
ate. This is a breakfast fit for a king. 
Indeed, in times not so long ago either, 
kings did not fare so well. America is 
a fine country, and I seem to have fallen 
on my feet in it.” 

Mrs. Olsen smiled, but looked at her 
daughter with a puzzled expression. 

Lena understood, and laughed. 

“He means that he has been lucky 
when he says he has fallen on his feet, 
mother,” remarked the girl. 

“That is just what I mean, ma’am,” 
said Michael. “If ever a boy was in 
luck, that I’ve been since I landed, espec- 
ially since I came to this place. A job, 
a good boss, a fine home, a kind, friendly 
family to stop with, — what could one 
ask more? But where’s the little lad 
this morning? Sleeping still?” 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Olsen. “Ilet him 
sleep so long as he likes; he is so little 
yet it will do him good.” 

“That’s right,” said Michael. “And 
after a while he’ll grow to be a fine, 
strong fellow, and a help to his mother. 
I’ve been fifteen minutes at my break- 


42 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


fast, — I see by the clock; ’twas half-past 
six when I came in. Will I have my 
dinner here, madam; or how will it 
be arranged ? ” 

“It is but a short walk from the 
store,” said Mrs. Olsen. “I think Mr. 
O’Donnell means you to come at noon. 
Just at twelve it can be ready.” 

“ Very well; I’ll see about it,” replied 
the boy, taking his cap, with a pleasant 
“Good-morning! ” as he left the room. 

“That is an extra fine boy, if I know 
anything,” said Mrs. Olsen, taking a 
plate of hot cakes from the oven and 
sitting down to her own breakfast. 
“ Good Mr. O’Donnell is also in luck, like 
they say. It would not surprise me yet 
if the old man takes him in partners 
before he is done with him. Maybe he 
don’t need no partner, for that is not 
vSuch a very big business he does; but 
I think, unless Mr. O’Donnell is hard 
to please, or Michael learns mischief like 
the others, he will some time be left 
with much money from that old man. 
I think I never seen such a nice boy; 
it seems different already since he is 
here. Don’t you think so, Lena? ” 

“I’ll get jealous, mother,” said Lena, 


THE FIRST WEEK. 


43 


laughing, as she busied herself removing 
the dishes to a side table. “But he is 
a nice boy; no one can help seeing that. 
He has such bright eyes; and he looks 
at you straight, — not bold, but as if 
he was no.t ashamed.’^ 

“That little fellow has nothing to be 
ashamed of,^^ said her mother. “He 
looks at you that way because he is 
good. I pray to God that he may be 
always so ! she added, with a sigh. 
“In this town many boys go to the 
bad pretty soon.” 

Seven o’clock was striking from the 
City Hall as Michael opened the door 
of Mr. O’Donnell’s shop. The shutters 
were down; an odor of fried fish re- 
vealed that the old man had eaten — or 
was about to eat — his breakfast. As 
Michael entered, he lifted his head from 
behind the back counter, calling out 
cheeringly: 

“Good-morning, Mr. O’Donnell! Did 
you sleep well ? ” 

“That I did, sir,” replied the boy, in 
the same pleasant tone. “I hope I’m 
not late. If I am, you’ll please lay it 
to the good breakfast Mrs. Olsen set 
before me.” 


44 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


Tlae old man came forward, wiping his 
hands on a towel rather the worse for 
use. Michael could not help contrast- 
ing the dingy shop and the appliances 
for bachelor life with the bright, cleanly 
home he had just left. He wished, in 
the kindness of his honest young heart, 
that his employer might also be a par- 
taker of Ihe comfort that had fallen to 
his lot. But at the same time he felt 
constrained to admit that Mr. O’Donnell 
looked remarkably content and pros- 
perous. 

“You’re not late— just to the moment 
you came in,” said the old man. “I’m 
glad you found room at the Olsens’. 
She’s a fine woman. She’ll be a mother 
to you; for a kind woman is the same 
whatever may be her nation, — though 
her ways may seem queer to you at 
first.” 

“Queer!” exclaimed Michael. “No, 
sir: not at all. Maybe I’m a trifle queer 
myself, sir. I think I am. I never heard 
a word or an accent that wasn’t from 
an Irish tongue till I stepped on ship- 
board on my way to America. I heard 
all kinds of talk then, sir. I’m thankful 
to Almighty God, and to you, sir, this 


THE FIRST WEEK. 


45 


day, that sent me to such a good home.” 

“She gave you her nephew’s room?” 

“She did, sir; and it’s worthy a king — 
of the seas, any way,” laughed Michael. 
“It’s like the cabin of a vessel, so hand- 
some and shipshape. And herself and 
daughter so clean and tasty; and the 
little fellow like an angel. Oh, it’s all 
fine and comfortable, sir ! ” 

“You’ve a cheerful heart in a sound 
body, my boy,” said the old man. 
“You’re like a fresh breeze yourself. I’m 
in doubt, though, that there’ll be break- 
ers ahead for you; but when they come, 
I’ll be bound you’re ready for them.” 
Then, abruptly changing his tone, he 
said: “You’ll find the watering-can 
behind that hogshead there. Fill it, and 
sprinkle the floor before you sweep the 
shop. It lays the dust and prevents 
damage to the goods. After you’ve 
made everything shipshape, go and rub 
down the horse and clean out the stable. 
By the time you have him harnessed 
there’ll be a man in to settle about some 
rope. If he takes it you’ll have to haul 
it to the wharf. He’s off the Andro- 
meda, an English boat.” 

Michael lost no time in obeying his 


46 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


employer’s commands. Whatever he 
did was done well and quickly, although 
thoroughness and speed are not always 
complementary. It would have been 
impossible to him, with his honest 
nature, to have shirked a duty or 
slighted any portion of his work. 
Neither was he so conceited as to fancy 
he knew everything, scorning to make 
inquiry when in doubt, through fear 
that he should be considered stupid; 
nor so sensitive to reproof that he 
thought a rebuke an injury, whether 
deserved or otherwise. If the former, 
he was too sensible not to acknowledge 
that older and wiser heads than his 
were justified by age, experience and 
authority to inform him of his errors. 
If the latter, having been trained on the 
old-fashioned but not altogether mis- 
taken theory that young people owe 
respect to their elders, as well as sub- 
jection to authoi*ity, he held his peace, 
profited by advice, and took care, in 
as far as he could, not to merit rebuke 
again in the same quarter. 

An ideal boy, some may say; others, 
an impossible boy. I shall not dispute 
the first assertion, for he came very near 


THE FIRST WEEK. 


47 


being one; not tliat lie did not have 
faults, as will develop later on. But an 
impossible boy he was not; for he is 
no creation of an author’s brain. He 
really lived and still lives. Perhaps his 
native modesty would not permit him 
to recognize his own portrait should he 
chance to read these pages, as is not 
unlikely; but that , would only be in 
keeping with his character. True merit 
is essentially modest. 



V. 


HAPPY DAYS. 

Micliael was kept busy all that week, 
at least in tlie morning and early part 
of the afternoon. Toward evening 
trade slackened; and when not engaged 
in his divers occupations, Mr. O’Donnell 
did not make work for him. There 
were but few boys in the neighborhood, 
and as yet he had not made the ac- 
quaintance of any. Of a most sociable 
and cheerful nature, he was fortunately 
dowered with a certain reserve, which 
is always a safeguard for young people, 
especially boys. Besides, he had been 
“guyed” so often during his trip across 
the continent by “smart” fellows of his 
own age, who at once detected his 
nationality, calling him “Pat,” “green- 
horn,” and so on, that he hesitated to 
make any advances to those whom he 
met. And there was something in his 
face which warned boys of that ilk that 
he was not of their kind. The average 

4S 


HAPPY DAYS. 


49 


boy is friendly to his fellow-boy from 
pure good nature; but the idle and 
vicious approach only those whom they 
hope to be able to pervert. 

Michael had fitted up an empty 
drawer in the shop for his own use. 
Mr. O’Donnell had given him permission 
to do this, when he noticed him one 
day working sums on a piece of broken 
slate, which he had found in the rubbish 
heap in the yard behind the store. He 
had looked over the boy’s shoulder, 
noting that he was doing a sum in 
compound interest. 

“ Is that how you spend your 
spare time, Michael?” he inquired, 
kindly. 

“Some of it, sir,” Michael answered. 
“The priest told me to keep up as well 
as I could in arithmetic. He said there 
was nothing like it for a boy in making 
a good start. You don’t mind, when 
there’s nothing to do, sir ? ” 

“Not at all, — not at all, my man!” 
said Mr. O’Donnell. “The priest told 
the truth, and I hope you will continue 
to follow his advice. But where did 
you get the arithmetic book ? ’Tis very 
ragged.” 


50 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


^‘Lena Olsen lent it to me, sir; and the 
bit of slate I found outside.” 

think I can find you a better out- 
fit,” said the old man, going to the back 
part of the shop, from whence he soon 
returned with some books, a slate, and 
a couple of copy-books, which he laid 
beside the boy. “I had a fellow here 
once for a few weeks,” he added, “whose 
mother wanted to make a man of him. 
She had an idea he could study between 
times. And so he could, if he would; but 
he had no mind for anything but cards, 
dominoes, and all such gambler’s truck. 
There was another like himself next 
door, at Mr. Allison’s, at the same time; 
and they were a pair of rogues, I can 
tell you. I caught him robbing the till 
once; but forgave him for the sake of 
his mother, on the promise that he’d 
never do it again. I was a fool for that; 
I did them both a great wrong, I’m 
afraid, when I let him go. The very 
next week he was taken up for stealijig 
lead pipe out of an empty house, after 
nightfall, with the other little rogue; 
and he was sent to the refuge. There 
the books have lain ever since. They’re 
new and clean, as you see; he didn’t use 


HAPPY DAYS. 


51 


tlfiem much. The mother didn’t want 
them, poor woman! She told me to 
give them to some boy that would 
value them. And, Michael, I believe 
you’re the boy.” 

‘‘Thank you, sir!” said Michael, 
eagerly examining them. “There’s an, 
arithmetic the same as this, and a 
geography — an American one. I don’t 
know as much of this country as I 
ought; I’ll study that. And a History 
of the United States; that I’ll need too. 
And the copy-books will come in fine; 
for I must practise writing whenever I 
have a chance, sir.” 

“Take the rubbish out of that drawer 
yonder,” said Mr. O’Donnell, “and you 
may keep your little things there. I’ll 
not disturb them. And you can fill up 
an odd moment now and then studying. 
So long as you attend to your work, 
boy. I’ll encourage this habit of studi- 
ousness. I don’t want to be a hard 
master, and I won’t be. Boys such as 
you seem to be, from what I’ve observed, 
are too rare in these days not to have 
a little help when they do try to make 
something of themselves. I’ll be an 
easy boss as long as you do right; but 


52 THE FOETUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


I’m afraid if I find you different from 
what I think you, Michael, you’ll find 
me as hard as the hardest.” 

Michael looked at him shrewdly. 

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Donnell,” he 
said, with an arch smile, which was 
reflected on his employer’s deeply lined 
but kindly face. “I think you’d find it 
hard to be hard. You might try, of 
course; but you have much the same 
features as Father John Magee, and he 
was benevolence itself. I’m sure I’ll do 
my best to please you; and I think I 
can promise that I’ll not slight my 
work while I’m in your service, unless 
I change greatly.” 

“Do as I tell you, and you won’t go 
wrong,” said the old man. “Be faithful 
in little things, and the big ones will 
come easy and take care of themselves. 
Don’t lie; don’t touch a pin that doesn’t 
belong to you; don’t make friends too 
quickly, and stay in the house nights, — 
above all, Michael, stay at home 
nights.” 

“And where would I go nights, sir?” 
inquired the boy innocentl3^ “Sure I’ve 
no friends or acquaintances, and I’m 
tired enough when evening comes with- 


HAPPY DAYS. 


53 


out walking the streets. ^Twould never 
come into my head to go out at night, 
sir, — barring the times I’d be helping 
Mrs. Olsen to carry home the clothes, 
as I promised.” 

“And how do you spend, and intend 
to spend, your evenings?” asked Mr. 
O’Donnell. 

“I’d like to give a little time to the 
lessons; and there’s a fine book of fairy 
tales there — Andersen’s, — that I read to 
them after supper, while they’re sewing 
and knitting; and I’ve been teaching 
them how to play ‘forty-five,’ and 
they’ve been teaching me euchre. And 
I like to have a lively romp with the 
little fellow before he goes to bed.” 

“I’m inclined to think you’re as great 
a Godsend to the Olsens as they’ve been 
to you,” said Mr. O’Donnell. “I fancy 
you enliven the evenings for them not 
a little; you seem to have everything 
as homelike as if you had lived there 
always, and yet you’ve not been there 
a week.” 

“They’re so friendly and nice, sir — 
doing all they can to make me so, — that 
I’d be a beast if I wasn’t grateful. And 
there’s a little word Lena said to me the 


54 THE FORTUNES OE A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


other night that I’d like to ask you 
about and what you think of it. ’Tis 
whether it wouldn’t be a good thing for 
me to learn Spanish. Lena tells me it’s 
not hard, and she says it is a fine 
thing for a boy in this part of the world 
to know it.” 

“She has a wise head on her, Michael, 
— almost as wise as your own,” replied 
the old man. “You couldn’t do a 
better thing than learn it. But wait 
until you’re thoroughly settled, and 
have all your, bearings well taken. It 
won’t do to have too many things on 
the go at once.” 

From the foregoing recital of Michael’s 
first week at Mr. O’Donnell’s the reader 
will see that the world was using him 
well, and that he had ample reason for 
the prayers of gratitude that ascended 
from his young heart every night and 
morning. He had been with the Olsens 
only a few days when he learned that 
Mrs. Olsen had become a convert from 
the Lutheran faith, through the chari- 
table and pious life of an Irish lady 
with whom she lived on first coming to 
America. During a season of cholera 
she had been attacked by the dread 


HAPPY HAYS. 


55 


disease. Her mistress never left her 
side; and when the doctor pronounced 
the case hopeless, she called for the 
minister of the church which she at- 
tended. But he had sent word that his 
wife was so afraid of the cholera, and 
so fearful of its attacking herself or 
their two children, that he dared not 
leave her. This strengthened a resolu- 
tion, already partially formed, and the 
Swedish girl became a Catholic. 

“I believe I am the only Swedish 
woman in this whole city who is 
Catholic, Michael,” she said. “But I 
don’t feel no difference, for with God 
it is all the same. We try to do right, 
Lena and me; and we have good friends 
among our own people too, though 
they are none of them Catholic. And 
it seems to me beautiful — that feeling 
that I never have felt till I became a 
Catholic — that in our Church we are 
all one people. Mrs. Brown, next door, 
she is Scotchwoman — such a good 
Catholic; and you are Irish; and Father 
Beauvais he is French; and Father 
Ramon he is Spanish; and we are all 
like one in the Church. The Germans 
they have a church here to themselves; 


66 THE FORTUNES OF 1 LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


but the young people they like better 
when the Father preach in American.^’ 
As it behooves a chronicler, above all 
things, to be veracious, and to portray 
the shadows no less than the lights of 
the picture, I may as well relate here 
an experience of Michael’s on the first 
Sunday he went to Mass in his new 
home. Wishing to go to confession, 
he set forth early in the morning, before 
the six o’clock Mass. When he reached 
the church, it was but faintly lit by 
a single gas-burner. The priest was in 
the confessional; there was no one else 
in the church. Having made his confes- 
sion, Michael knelt in front of the altar 
of the Blessed Virgin. Presently people 
began to come in; the priest went into 
the sanctuary, from thence to the 
sacristy; and, coming out again in a 
few moments, lit the candles. Michael 
wondered where the servers could be. 
When the priest finally issued from 
the vestry robed for Mass, he was 
without an attendant. The service 
began ; no one answered the psalm 
*^Judica me.” Michael could no longer 
remain outside the railing: he entered 
softly, and, kneeling beside the celebrant. 


tiAPPY DAYS. 


57 


began the Confiteor. Recognizing the 
unfamiliar voice, Father Ramon glanced 
slightly at him, and proceeded with the 
Mass. As Michael was removing the 
book to the Gospel side, he saw a red 
curly head thrust suddenly through 
the half-open door of the sanctuary, 
quickly followed by another, also curly 
but black as jet. They were withdrawn 
as quickly as they had appeared, and 
the door closed. 

Mass over, Michael once more took 
his place before the altar of Our Lady, 
to finish his thanksgiving. Some time 
had elapsed when he felt himself touched 
on the shoulder. The priest was stand- 
ing beside him. 

“When you are ready, come to the 
sacristy, my child, he said. “I would 
like to speak with you.” 

When the boy had finished his prayers 
he went to the sacristy, and found him- 
self in the presence of one to whom his 
heart had already gone out, since he 
had seen and heard him in the confes- 
sional. Tall and slender, of a pale olive 
complexion, with very black hair, the 
priest extended his hand to the boy 
with a benignant and winning smile. 


. VI. 

AN UNFRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 

“ Good-moming, my little fellow! said 
Father Ramon, when Michael entered 
the sacristy. “You are a stranger, I 
think. Tell me your name.” 

The priest looked down at the boy 
as he spoke, and the boy looked up at 
the priest. The former thought he had 
never seen a more honest, open face than 
that upturned so frankly to his. The 
latter was thinking, with a beating 
heart, “Here is one who looks as though 
he might take the place of Father 
John.” But while these thoughts were 
passing through his mind his lips were 
saying : 

“My name is Michael O^Donnell, 
Father. I^m not very long from Ireland. 
When I saw there was no one to serve, 
I just couldn’t stay outside the railing. 
I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Mind!” exclaimed the priest. “You 
are the very boy I’ve been wishing for 

5S 


AN UNFRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


69 


this long time. When I came, there was 
no one to serve. It is a small church, 
as you see. A new parish has just been 
made, and many of the people are of 
those who have almost fallen away from 
their religion. There is no Catholic 
school, — that is, a parochial school. 
Just when I had six boys pretty well 
trained, they had a dispute among 
themselves. I talked to them very 
severely, and the result is that this 
morning I was without anybody to 
serve my Mass.’^ 

Michael stood aghast. “I never heard 
tell of such a thing. Father,’^ he said. 
“And will they come back, do you 
think? If they don’t. I’ll be glad to 
serve till you get others to take their 
places.” 

The priest sighed. “The fact is,” he 
replied, “I do not believe I am anxious 
to have them back. They are very 
rude and irreverent. So it is in this 
Western country, — at least this part 
of it. I know nothing of any 
other.” 

“You’re not an American yourself, 
Father?” queried Michael, with the 
simplicity of frank innocence. “I’d 


60 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTlE EMIGRANT. 


know that by the sweet sound of your 
speech.” 

‘‘The same as I knew you were not 
many days from Ireland, with that soft, 
rich brogue,” said Father Ramon. “I 
am from Spain, but spent three years 
in Baltimore before I came here.” 

Michael’s face brightened. “’Tis the 
prettiest sounding English I’ve heard 
on a stranger’s tongue since I came to 
this country,” he went on. “I’ve been 
advised by the man I’m working for 
to learn Spanish. Maybe you could put 
me in a good way to find a teacher that 
wouldn’t charge me too much.” 

“I will teach you myself, and gladly,” 
said Father Ramon, with a smile. 
“What are you doing?” 

“I am working for Mr. O’Donnell — a 
namesake of my own, — a ship-chandler 
down by the wharf, not far from here. 
Maybe you know him?” 

Father Ramon shook his head. “I do 
not know him,” he said; “though, by 
the name, he ought to be in this parish 
and a Catholic. Does he practise his 
religion?” 

“I don’t know. Father,” replied the 
boy. “I never thought of anything 


AN UNFRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


61 


else, though. He’s a very nice man.” 

“And where do you live ? I hope with 
good people.” 

“With the Olsens, Father. They live 
in the tenement house on Sixth Street. 
She’s a widow with two children — a 
nice, friendly girl and a fine little boy.” 

“Yes, yes!” said the priest. “That 
is all right. I am glad you are there, 
my child. Now, if you will run home 
and get your breakfast, you may come 
back and serve at nine. And to-night 
we can talk about the Spanish.” 

Michael picked up his little round cap, 
which he had placed on the sacristy 
table. 

“I thank you. Father,” he said; “and 
I’ll be glad to serve you — not alone at 
Mass, but in any way I can. Good- 
moming. Father!” 

The priest laid his hand on the boy’s 
head. “God bless you!” he said, ear- 
nestly. “Be here at a quarter of nine.” 

With these words he opened the out- 
side door of the sacristy, and Michael 
ran quickly down the steps. The 
passage between the church and the 
fence was narrow, because of a long 
line of cedar-trees which had originally 


62 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


been planted closely together for the 
purpose of making a hedge. But they 
had been neglected and allowed ^to grow 
at will, with the result that they shot 
at least twenty feet into the air, — their 
wide, straggling branches projecting 
OTcr the foot-walk which led to the 
street. At the corner of the church this 
growth was very thick, so much so that 
a person coming from the sacristy was 
obliged to stoop, or push aside the 
branches with some force, before coming 
into the open space in front of the 
edifice. 

As Michael approached this spot, two 
boys jumped from the dense under- 
growth. One threw him to the ground 
with a vigorous swing, and held him 
there; while his companion began to 
pommel the prostrate boy with all his 
might, at the same time kicking him at 
all available points with a pair of hob- 
nailed shoes that lent an unwelcome 
emphasis to the unlooked-for punish- 
ment. Stunned at first by the unex- 
pected attack, Michael seemed an easy 
prey for his assailants. But he was 
strong and active, and knew not the 
meaning of the word cowardice, He 


AN UNFRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


63 


was also considerably larger and more 
athletic than his enemies, — a fact they 
had no donbt divined and taken into 
consideration before lying in wait for 
him. Singlehanded, he could have 
worsted either of them, and now pre- 
pared to try his skill on both. With a 
mighty effort, he shook off the boy who 
was holding him down with all his 
weight; and, as he rose, contrived to fall 
against and on top of the other. Once 
on his feet, a tormentor on either side, 
he sent right and left two well-directed 
blows from the shoulder. They were as 
effective as he could have wished; for 
the next moment he was gazing down 
on his assailants, both sprawled on 
the ground, one of them crying aloud. 
Not a word had been spoken as yet: the 
whole proceeding had not occupied two 
minutes. But Michael had recognized 
them at once as the boys who had 
thrust their heads through the door 
of the sanctuary while he was serving 
Mass, and soon realized the reason of 
the attack. 

“Well!” he exclaimed, as they struggled 
to their feet. “You are a fine pair of 
cowards, that’s what you are. And 


64 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


maybe you won’t be in such a hurry to 
try it again, my lads. The next time, 
if you do, be fair and square about it, 
and don’t hide yourselves under cover 
of the trees like a pair of highway 
robbers.” 

“An’ what you sneakin’ an’ takin’ our 
places a-servin’ ?” said the black-haired 
boy. “We’ve been a-goin’ there every 
Sunday, an’ sometimes weekdays, for 
more’n six months; an’ now, just when 
it’s cornin’ close to Christmas, Father 
Ramon he turns us off, pretendin’ he 
ain’t got no use for us; ’cause we was 
a-fussin’, he says. That’s what he says, 
but it’s just nothin’ but a’ excuse to git 
out o’ givin’ us somethin’ for Christ- 
mas.” 

“Say that once more, you cowardly 
cur,” cried Michael, with uplifted fist, 
“and I’ll knock you down again! I 
never laid eyes on the priest till to-day, 
but he’s as fine a man as ever I saw. 
What you ought both to do is to go in 
and beg his pardon, and ask the other 
fellows to do the same.” 

“Whatever we do,” said the red- 
headed boy, “you ain’t got no business 
loafi n ' round here, tryin’ to take our 


AN UNFRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


65 


places. We ain’t goin’ to let no green- 
horn do it, neither.” 

“Greenhorn or not,” laughed Miehael, 
“I’m a mateh, and more than a mateh, 
for the pair of you. ’Tis all I’m sorry 
for that you made me eommit the sin 
of anger and I just after reeeiving Holy 
Communion.” 

At this the boys burst into shouts of 
laughter. 

“Hear him a-blowin’!” exelaimed the 
larger of the two. 

“Yes, an’ a-preaehin’!” chimed in the 
younger. 

Miehael looked at them in genuine 
astonishment. 

“I ean’t see what you find so amusing 
in what I’ve said,” he answered. “It 
was only the honest truth, and I’ll stiek 
to it up and down. But come on. 
Remembering the day and the saered 
place. I’ll forget all about it, if you’ll 
promise not to make fools of yourselves 
again, and to ask Father Ramon’s 
pardon. There’s room for another boy 
in the elass, I’m sure. I can’t come 
weekdays, but I’d be very glad to serve 
Sundays along with the rest of you.” 

Picking up his cap, and brushing the 


66 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


dust off his clothes as he went, Michael 
led the way; the others following slowly. 

“You’re pretty game, Mike,” said the 
older boy, in an admiring tone, yet 
with a certain shamefacedness in his 
manner. 

“And who told you my name was 
Mike?” asked the bright little Irish lad, 
all traces of discomposure gone from 
his fresh, open countenance. 

“No one,” was the reply. “A fellow 
wouldn’t need to be overly smart to tell 
that. Or maybe it’s Pat, eh?” 

“No, ’tis Michael — Michael O’Don- 
nell,” said the boy. “And what is your 
name, will you tell me?” 

“Reggie Curtin,” answered the long- 
limbed, lanky boy, in a tone which 
seemed more nasal by contrast with 
Michael’s full, rich accent. He laid the 
emphasis on the last syllable of the last 
name. 

Michael looked at him more closely. 

“By your features you ought to be 
Irish,” he said; “but the name is queer — 
that is, the way you pronounce it. 
There were Curtins in my place, but you 
call it Cur-tin. I don’t think it sounds 
well” 


AN TJNFEIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


67 


“None of my folks is Irish/’ said the 
unromantic-looking Reggie, quickly. 

“Hm!” ejaculated Michael, compress- 
ing his lips, lest he might precipitate 
another altercation. 

“My name’s Charlie Dortey,” said the 
red-haired boy. “You can’t find no 
Irish in that there. Ma she’s tryin’ to 
git in the Daughters of the Rev’lution, 
an’ she thinks she’s got a sure thing 
of it.” 

Michael looked mystified. “I don’t 
exactly understand what yon mean,” 
he said. “But I was taught to believe 
that a man’s country made no differ- 
ence. It’s the man himself.” 

“That’s queer talk for an Irishman,” 
said Reggie. “They’re the clannishest 
set, my father says; but that’s ’cause 
they’ve been kept so ignorant that they 
don’t know there’s any other people 
in the world only theirselves.” 

“Enough of that!” said Michael, halt- 
ing abruptly. “I’ll not insult your 
country, and don’t you insult mine, 
if you please. If we’re going to be 
good friends, that’s not the way to go 
about it. But here’s my place. You’ll 
see me to-night, if you’re there; for I’m 


68 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

going down to the church to Vespers.” 

“We don’t have no Vespers,” said 
Reggie. “Choir can’t sing ’em. But 
there’s Benediction. Goin’ to serve, eh? 
Better look out!” 

But with a wave of the hand, Michael 
disappeared into the house. 



YII. 

SOME PERPLEXITIES. 

Michael said nothing of his adventure 
to Mrs. Olsen or her daughter. He was 
not gossipy by nature, and an instinct 
of delicacy made him refrain from 
relating the particulars of a collision in 
which he had come off “first best.” He 
informed them, however, that he had 
served the early Mass, and later had 
met the priest. 

“That is a man far too good for this 
world,” said Mrs. Olsen, — “anyhow, for 
this part of it. I have blushed many 
times when I have seen those poys he 
tried so hard to teach, how they have 
misbehaved even on the altar — behind 
his back, — laughing and making faces. 
That is the way they have done so 
often. Sometimes there is two, four, 
six poys; again there is none. How 
come it that he asked you to serve 
again at the last Mass, Michael ? Don't 

69 


70 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


them bad poys come no more? Or 
maybe he turn them off?” 

“I believe there was some trouble,” 
answered the boy. “But I hope it will 
be all right soon. Surely all the boys 
in the parish, or any boy in the parish, 
could not be so rude and ungrateful to 
the priest as to desert him altogether? ” 

“Yes, they could do anything,” said 
Mrs. Olsen. “Some of them they strike 
their own mothers even. There was 
one here in this house, and his mother 
she was a good woman. She was all 
the time sick, and she couldn’t go out 
much. But she did sew nice, and that 
way she make a living for him and her. 
He sold papers on the streets, too ; but 
not much of that money he brought 
home to his mother. To Mass he would 
not go, though Father Ramon he come 
for him many a time. Once, on Friday, 
he threw the skillet at his mother’s head 
because she would not cook for him 
bacon with the eggs. And once when 
he have want to go sailing and have 
no money, and she would not give him 
some, he beat her on the head with his 
fists till I hear her cry out ; and I run 
in and take him in my arms, and I throw 


SOME PERPLEXITIES. 


71 


him down. And he is only twelve that 
poy, — only twelve. 0 Michael, I hope 
you will never make much friends 
among that kind!’’ 

“My! my!” exclaimed Michael, aghast 
at the fearful story just narrated. “I 
never heard the like of that in all my 
life. And where is the boy now, 
ma’am? ” 

“In the Reform School,” replied Mrs. 
Olsen. “And there are many Catholic 
poys, and girls too ; and they will not 
let the priest go there — those men who 
have charge. And so they grow up that 
way; and when they come out they 
don’t know nothing about their own 
religion. In this country those reform 
schools ain’t much good, any way. 
They mix up poys and girls that got 
no homes and is good with those that 
is bad; and that spoils the good ones. 
I wish that Mr. Finley that died three 
years ago, and that didn’t know only 
to write his name and read a little, — I 
wish he have left that hundred thousand 
dollars for building a library, and that 
other hundred thousand for keeping it 
going, — I wish he have left that for the 
poor Catholic poys and girls of this 


THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

city, good and bad. And then they 
could put up a bouse with two wings, 
and a chapel in the middle. On one side 
they could make for the bad ones, and 
the other for the good. And if they 
take Father Ramon for chaplain, then 
that would be the best thing that has 
ever been done in this city.” 

Lena laughed quietly. 

“Mother,” she said, “I wish had 
plenty of money. I am sure you would 
do a great deal of good with it. Mother 
is always talking like this,” the girl 
added, turning to Michael. 

“Yes, I am talking always,” resumed 
the good woman, casting a fond look at 
her daughter. “And that is because I 
know, especially when I go on the streets 
at night. And maybe all the more I am 
so thankful that I have such a good girl 
myself. But I think of my little fellow 
there, and how soon I may leave him 
alone I don’t know; and then what ? ” 

“ Mother ! ” cried Lena. “ And you are 
always saying God is good! You are 
not going to die until Gustave is a man. 
And if you should, couldn’t I care for 
him? Wouldn’t I do as you would 
yourself? ” 


SOME PERPLEXITIES. 


73 


“Yes, yes!’’ answered the mother. 
“ No need to say that : I know it; and it 
is only sometimes that I feel so, — some- 
times when I am tired and think maybe 
I have to work a little hard.” 

“ ’Tis a good, kind heart you have, 
Mrs. Olsen,” said Michael; “and God 
grant that some one who has the means 
may put the thing forward ! And 
maybe ’tis yourself they’d put in charge 
of the children. How would you like 
that, ma’am? ” 

“That is a good joke, Michael,” replied 
Mrs. Olsen, with a merry laugh. “Maybe 
for the washing and ironing — yes; but 
for the charge — that needs brains more 
than mine.” 

“I don’t know,” said the boy, with a 
wisdom beyond his years. “Brains 
count, of course; but kindness — that’s 
everything, I think. I’m rather curious 
about that man Finley you spoke of. 
He was a Catholic, wasn’t he ? ” 

“ Oh, yes I ” answered Mrs. Olsen. “ He 
come here early in the Fifties, and he 
make much money on mines. He just 
don’t go to Mass any longer, for some 
trouble he had with a priest about 
Fenians — you know what them is, of 


74 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


course. I don’t need to tell you nothing 
about that.” 

Michael nodded. 

Well, that man he don’t go no more 
to Mass or the Sacraments. Then 
strange priests come here, and they 
don’t know about him maybe, and 
don’t get acquainted with him; and 
still he don’t go. After a while he live 
on a little ranch about twenty miles 
away, and people forget if he have any 
money or not. He live all alone, and is 
pretty strange man. Sometime, but 
not often, he come to town. One day 
he get sick, and — it is funny — that very 
day the priest he is saying Mass at 
Duck City, near where he lives. And a 
woman — she is a Protestant woman — 
say to him : ‘ The priest is eating dinner 
down at the hotel, Mr. Finley; maybe 
you like to see him.’ He say, ^ Yes ’ ; but 
when the priest come he is not able to 
talk any more. He tries to talk, and he 
says something about money, but they 
don’t know what. Then he dies ; and 
when he is buried the lawyers come, and 
they have a will, and he have left his 
money in a trust for what I tell you. 
Hm! I know often what them trusts 


SOME PERPLEXITIES. 


75 


come to in the end. Of course it is good 
that he leaves a library, but it was 
better if there was something Catholic 
about it, any way.” 

“ ’Twas a great pity, poor man ! ” said 
Michael. “ And won’t there be Catholic 
boohs in it, ma’am?” he inquired. 

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” replied Mrs. 
Olsen. “If you pay taxes, and you go 
there and you fight with the people, and 
you say this book and that book must 
be in it, because you’re Catholic and 
want some true book of history and of 
your religion there, to be against those 
many others that is full of lies about us, 
— then maybe, after a long time, some 
books may come in. But we Catholics 
have to fight, fight all the time for such 
things. I don’t know much myself 
about it, but so I have heard very 
good American Catholics say. ” 

“And I thought this was a free 
country, where all had equal rights,” 
said Michael. “But I’m beginning to 
see that we have to fight for them here 
as well as everywhere else.” 

The face of the boy was more grave 
and thoughtful than Mrs. Olsen had ever 
seen it. She was not a pessimist, albeit 


76 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


Her previous remarks might have led 
one to suppose so. Her brow cleared, 
and in a bright, cheerful tone, she said : 

“But that is better we do not have 
everything just how we like it. Father 
Ramon he preach that all the time. The 
Church thrives on persecution. He says 
when we have all just the right way as 
we want it, then we ought to be afraid ; 
then maybe we begin to go backward. 
Oh, he is very good, Michael ! No one 
can forget what he preaches. He says 
another wise thing that I always re- 
member. Two things we must fight, he 
says. First, the spirit of the world out- 
side, that is against the Catholics ; for, 
though many, many people are not 
bigoted, and some of them Protestants, 
they set us such good example by the 
way they do, others of them is very 
much opposed. Maybe in your country 
it is not so, Michael?” 

“Not just where I lived, ma’am,” 
replied the boy; “and nowhere in 
Ireland now is it as bad as it used to 
be. But in some parts they have great 
fights, even of late. In the part I lived 
in the priest and the minister often 
dined together; they were very good 


SOME PERPLEXITIES. 


77 


friends entirely. ’T would be a fine 
thing if all were belonging to the one 
true Church, ma’am.” 

“Maybe that comes pretty near the 
last days, but not yet,” said Mrs. Olsen. 
“I think we must first go through 
much trouble before that happens. 
Much we shall have to fight the spirit 
of the world outside, that Father 
Ramon talks always about. So sensible 
he talks. He says that we must not 
always be getting mad and think people 
is against us ; but we must stand up for 
our rights in the true, sensible way. 
We must let them see that we are not 
frightened at them, and that we are 
good citizens and Americans like them; 
and that we must set always a good 
example, so they can’t say : ‘ Oh, those 
Catholics, they pretend to have the true 
religion, and see how they live ! ’ 

“The other spirit of the world, he 
says, is what dwells in our own souls, 
and destroys them if we don’t drive it 
out. When it is there we grow easy- 
going and careless, and don’t live like 
Catholics ought. That comes from 
having too soft times, and mixing with 
them people that ain’t got no religion ; 


78 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


and reading all kinds of books ; and not 
staying at home content, but always 
every night going for new amusements. 
That is to take our thought far away 
from the first thing and the only thing — 
to save our souls. So long you stick 
to him, Michael, so long you go with 
Father Ramon, you be all right. He is 
a good, good man.” 

*‘So I think myself, ma’am,” replied 
Michael, as he prepared to set out for 
last Mass. “And aren’t you coming 
yourself?” he added, pausing on the 
threshold. 

“No. Lena she went this morning 
when you did. She was home quick to 
tell me you served. And to-day I go to 
St. Anne’s to bring home a friend, who 
will take dinner with us. She is convert 
too, like me. It is a little later at St. 
Anne’s, and so I get everything done 
before I go; and Lena she can fix the 
dinner.” 

“All right, ma’am. I’m for the road 
once more,” said Michael, as he turned 
in the doorway, his honest, cheery, 
smiling face illuming the room like a 
fiood of morning sunshine. 


VIII. 

IN THE PARK. 

Michael had half hoped to meet his 
new acquaintances in the vicinity of the 
church, as he was far from desiring to 
stand in the way of a reconciliation 
between Father Ramon and his former 
acolytes. He would have been glad to 
have seen them in the sacristy preparing 
to serve, but his wish was not gratified. 
There was no one there but the priest, 
whose pale, grave face brightened as the 
boy made his appearance. In another 
moment Michael had donned cassock 
and surplice, and started obediently, 
though with some timidity, to the 
sanctuary to light the candles. 

Michael was not a musical critic, or 
he might have suffered some distrac- 
tions from the performance of the choir, 
which was unmistakably an amateur 
organization. He thought he had — never 
heard anything more beautiful than the 
plain, practical discourse delivered by 

79 


80 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


the pious priest from the steps of the 
altar. 

’Tis like St. Aloysius and St. Francis 
Xavier both he looks,” said Michael to 
himself. “I wonder the boys can treat 
him that way. I’d like to serve him 
all the days of my life.” 

At the conclusion of Mass, after the 
priest had unvested, Michael slipped 
away, not wishing to appear intrusive, 
as people were coming and going, all 
having some business with the priest. 
He spent part of the afternoon in his 
room, between writing to Father John 
and trying to pick out some tunes on 
a French harp he found on the little 
shelf which served for a mantel. 

About four o’clock Mrs. Olsen knocked 
at the door. 

“Michael,” she said, “me and Lena 
and the baby is going out for a little 
walk. We’re going to take Mrs. Baer 
part way home; and, if you like you 
can come with us. We go through the 
Square. That’s a pretty place, with a 
fountain and lovely flowers growing 
round.” 

Michael rose with alacrity. He had 
been feeling a trifle lonely, — not for the 


IN THE PARK. 


81 


lack of young companions, as his life 
had always been so circumstanced that 
he had had but few playmates; but the 
Sunday quiet and abstention from busi- 
ness had given him leisure for thought, 
and now he was glad of a diversion. 

Little Gustave looked bright and 
pretty in his Sunday suit. Michael 
took him by the hand, following Mrs. 
Olsen and her friend, accompanied by 
Lena. When they came to the Square 
the visitor left them, and Mrs. Olsen 
led the way along the broad gravelled 
path to the fountain, in the basin of 
which several species of water-lilies 
grew. Michael had never seen anything 
like them before. He admired the 
beauty of the flowers and marvelled 
at the way in which they grew — nour- 
ished by the water, half hidden, half 
revealed between the brilliant green 
pads scattered along the sparkling 
expanse of the fountain. On the broad 
edge of the basin the birds hopped 
about fearlessly, skimming the surface 
of the water with their tiny bills for a 
dainty drink before once more winging 
their upward flight into the tops of the 
tall trees that lined the walks. 


82 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Come, let us rest ourselves a little,’^ 
said Mrs. Olsen, sitting down on one 
of the green benches near the fountain. 
“It is yet early, and it is pleasant to 
watch the water fall and splash onto 
the flowers.” 

The children seated themselves beside 
her. Michael looked up at the sky — 
turquoise blue, without a single cloud. 

“The sky is blue in Ireland,” he said; 
“nothing can be finer after the rain. 
But here it is always so. In Ireland 
it rains nearly every day. Some ways I 
like that and some ways this. There 
hasn’t been any rain here since I 
came.” 

“And will not be till maybe January — 
or not much till then, any way,” said 
Mrs. Olsen. “Don’t you know, Michael, 
it does not rain here only in winter 
never? Just about three months we have 
any, and then maybe not more than five 
or six days. But that make everything 
so green, so green! You could not believe 
it. From March then on again no 
more rain till winter.” 

“Well, well, now!” said the boy. 
“That is very strange. I think you’d 
like once in a while to have a summer 


IN THE PARK. 


83 


shower, ma’am. There’s nothing finer 
of a dusty, hot day.” 

“Yes, that is so,” replied Mrs. Olsen. 
“But we can’t have everything no- 
wheres. It is not very hot in the sum- 
mer time— just like now; and in the 
winter not much colder, only when it 
rains. Soon you get used to it.” 

While she was speaking Michael’s 
attention became diverted by the ap- 
proach of a number of boys, among 
whom he recognized the pair whose 
acquaintance had been forced upon him 
in so undesirable a manner that morn- 
ing. They came slowly in the direction 
of the fountain, pushing one another 
backward and forward, and indulging 
in other antics common to boys of 
that particular calibre. The group on 
the bench was evidently their objective 
point; they advanced steadily in that 
direction. 

Mrs. Olsen soon noticed them. Their 
loud voices and rude manners would 
have attracted the notice of the least 
observant. 

“What is those poys looking over here 
at?” she asked. “You don’t know 
them, Michael, perhaps?” 


B4 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“That is The gang/ mother,” said 
Lena. “They are the boys Father 
Ramon tried to reform by putting them 
to serve on the altar.” 

“That poor F'ather Ramon is so good 
himself that he ean’t know how hard 
it is to make deeent poys out of that 
kind. Maybe after they have been in 
good, striet plaee for a year or so* they 
may serve on the altar all right, but 
not before,” said her mother, 

“Two of them are those I met this 
morning near the church,” said Michael, 
as he recognized Curtin and Dortey, 
who were in the lead. 

“Ha! I know what they try to do!” 
exclaimed Mrs. Olsen, sitting very erect 
and giving a pull to her bonnet strings, 
as one who meant straightway to 
constitute herself his champion and 
protector. “Yes, they try to pick a 
fight with you, child. It is good we are 
here together, else they might make it 
hot for you. But they don’t dare only 
to be sassy maybe when they see me 
here.” 

The boys were now within hailing 
distance of our friends, and hail they 
proceeded to do without any show of 


IN THE PARK. 


85 


bashfulness. Pausing just opposite to 
Michael and his companions, on the 
other side of the circular basin of the 
fountain, they began to emit a series 
of groans and cat-calls, the like of which 
the boy in his innocent young life had 
never heard, but which were not en- 
tirely foreign to the ears of Mrs. Olsen 
or her daughter. After this perform- 
ance had been indulged in to their 
satisfaction, the largest boy of the 
group, who appeared to be about 
fifteen, placed himself in front of the 
others, e^cclaiming as he did so: 

“Hello, Paddy! I dare you to come 
round here, — I dare you, I say!” 

Michael made no reply, but en- 
deavored to look as unconcerned as 
possible. 

“I knew you couldn’t take a dare!” 
continued the bully. “You’re a coward, 
you are; an’ a low-lived, sneakin’ pnppy 
dog. The kid” — pointing to a very 
small boy on the outskirts of the valiant 
group, — “the kid he could wipe up the 
ground with you with one hand.” 

Another series of groans, followed by 
cheers, demonstrated the approval of 
the crowd. Still Michael said not ^ 


86 THE FORTUNES OF A LlTTLE EMIGRANT. 

word. But Mrs. Olsen had not the 
same reason for keeping silence. On the 
contrary, she thought it behooved her, 
both as a mother and protector of the 
orphan boy under her charge, to 
remonstrate at least with the 
offenders. 

“Poys, poys!’^ she cried, with a gest- 
ure at once of warning and expostula- 
tion. “That is not nice to treat a 
stranger in such a way. This is a very 
nice little poy. I know him: he lives 
with me. And it would be good, I 
think, if you were in some things to 
take example from him.'^ 

She had begun in a really beneficent 
mood; but as she saw the effect of her 
words on the jeering faces of the refrac- 
tory group opposite, the good woman 
gradually warmed up in a manner 
entirely unexpected to herself. 

“Poys, poys!” shouted the leader in 
reply; and the others echoed his mock- 
ing words, dancing and waving their 
arms in ludicrous imitation of her 
expostulatory gesture. “Oh, ybu’re 
nothin^ but an old Dutchwoman! You 
can’t teach none of us nothin’ we need 
to know. If you don’t shut your mouth, 


IN THE PARK. 


87 


the next time you come down our way 
we’ll pitch your old clothes-basket into 
the gutter. You mind your business 
right away, or you’ll be sorry.” 

While the rude boy was still speaking, 
Michael had jumped to his feet, about 
to rush headlong into the thick of his 
enemies, so angry was he at the ridicule 
and impudence heaped upon the kindly 
woman who had made him welcome 
to her home. But while in the very act 
of so doing, both mother and daughter 
seized him by the arms, to restrain him 
from precipitating himself upon the 
group of boys, who outnumbered him 
six to one. Little Gustave began to 
cry, whereupon the attacking party 
proceeded to imitate him in the most 
childish trebles they could assume. In 
vain did Michael struggle with his 
captors: they held him fast and firm. 
Other persons, attracted by the unusual 
excitement, now gathered near the spot. 

“Policeman!” exclaimed an old lady, 
waving her umbrella toward a guar- 
dian of the peace who emerged from a 
neighboring clump of trees. “Here’s 
a boy that wants to go and play with 
that lot of roughs yonder, and his 


83 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


motlier and sister can’t liold him. Come 
quick, Policeman, or he’ll get away!” 

“Why, what’s this?” asked the officer, 
who recognized Michael at once. 
“Yoii’yc lost your good morals very 
soon, my lad, if this lady tells the truth* 
I’m sorry to see it.” 

“No, no!” cried Mrs. Olsen, releasing 
the flushed and embarrassed boy as at 
the appearance of the officer “the gang” 
disappeared among the trees. “That 
is not the way. The lady does not 
know. Little Michael he is a good poy; 
but them bad fellows they want to 
make a fight with him. Then I try to 
stop them, and they call me names; and 
Michael he gets mad then and tries to 
get over there. Then we try to hold 
him back. Go for them other poys, Mr. 
Policeman; then you will do a good 
job.” 

“Ha! I know that gang well,” said 
Mr. Donovan — ^for it was Michael’s first 
friend who had appeared on the scene. 
“I was taking a short cut across the 
Square to report for night duty; this 
isn’t my beat at all, you know. Keep 
away from bad company, my boy, is my 
advice to you — first, last, and all the 


IN THE PARK. 


89 


time. I’m glad to see you’re lodged 
with a nice, decent woman like Mrs. 
Olsen ; and that she gives a good 
account of you. I’ve thought of you 
many a time since that morning I saw 
you first. What are you doing?” 

As the party retraced their steps, the 
lad related to Mr. Donovan the story 
of his good fortune. They left the 
policeman at the gate, after he had 
made Michael promise to pay the family 
a visit very soon. 

On leaving the boy and his com- 
panions, Mr. Donovan could not help 
contrasting the bearing and appearance 
of the little emigrant with that of his 
own sons. The sigh that rose to his 
lips would have been still more pro- 
found had he known that the small boy 
who had followed in the wake of “the 
gang,” and whom the leader had 
designated as “the kid,” was his own 
son, — a precocious child, fast learning 
and emulating the bad habits of his 
older associates. 


IX. 


FRIENDS AND FOES. 

Although it was not the custom of 
the Olsen family to attend church on 
Sunday evenings, Mrs. Olsen thought 
it advisable to do so on this occasion, 
lest “the gang” might be lying in wait 
for Michael on his way home. 

“We will go along to-night, Michael,” 
she said; “we do not go much nights, 
for the poy he gets sleepy. At St. 
Anne’s we go sometimes afternoons; 
but Gustave he gets tired there, too. 
Often we walk in the park, like to-day; 
and first we go in for Benediction. But 
to-night we all go. It don’t hurt if 
Gustave gets a little sleepy for once.” 

“I can carry him home, ma’am,” said 
Michael, “if it comes to that. But 
indeed there’s no need of your going. I 
don’t think the boys will want to touch 
me; and if they did come in my way, 
it would be the wisest thing for me to 

90 


FRIENDS AND FOES. 


91 


try to make friends with them. I don’t 
want to have them against me.” 

The good woman lifted up her voice 
in expostulation. 

“O Michael!” she exclaimed, in a tone 
of disappointment. “I am so sorry to 
hear you speak like that. If you want 
to make friends with those poys, then 
you are not what I took you to be. 
How can you like to be friends with 
them after the way you have seen them 
act this afternoon? Oh, it is better that 
you never play with any poy or know 
any than to get in friends with such 
rowdies! Then it will be you neglect 
your work and your religion; and then 
it goes on from bad to worse, till Mr. 
O’Donnell he will send you away; and 
so and so, till you are in the poorhouse 
— no, I mean the workhouse — with the 
rest of ‘the gang.’ For that is where 
they will all go in the end.” 

Michael made an ineffectual attempt 
to speak; but Mrs. Olsen began to walk 
up and down, silencing him with a 
wave of her hand, while she continued: 

“Such a friendship as we have for you, 
Michael — Lena and me. And so good 
as Mr. O’Donnell would be to you when 


92 THE FOKTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


you do right and make no bad acquaint- 
ances. It was such good fortune for 
you, we thought. Yes, I have already 
said to Lena: ‘I am not at all surprised 
if Mr. O’Donnell takes in that good poy 
for partners after a while.’ I have 
said that more than once already. And 
if she don’t think so, because she say 
the business is not big enough for 
partners, she agree that it is nearly sure 
he keep you till he dies, and maybe leave 
you all his money. And now you will 
make friends with those bad poys! It 
is all the same as you kill yourself. You 
do kill your soul; and the body might 
better be dead when the soul is dead. 
That is all what I have to say about 
the matter, my dear Michael.” 

Lena now thought it time to interfere. 
She had been looking from her mother 
to the boy, and back to her mother, 
with a face on which amusement was 
more in evidence than solicitude. Poor 
Michael appeared to be sadly distressed. 
Casting an appealing glance at the 
little girl, he seemed to be asking her 
to come to his assistance. She did so 
at once. 

“Mother dear,” she said, “do not be 


FEIENDS AND FOES. 


93 


so uneasy about nothing; for I am sure 
it is nothing. What Michael meant 
was that he would rather have the 
good-will of ‘the gang^ than their ill- 
will; and that if he spoke friendly to 
them, they would not bother him again. 
Wasn’t that it, Michael? I’m sure he 
didn’t want to be friends with them 
the way you think, mother. You didn’t; 
did you, Michael?” 

“Not a bit of it!” answered the boy, 
emphatically. “Sure ’tis better to have 
the good-will of any one than his 
enmity, Mrs. Olsen. ’Twouldn’t be the 
thing, ma’am, for me to have that band 
of roughs against me. I was thinking, 
too, that if I spoke to them fairly, they 
might leave me alone in the future. And 
it’s sorry I am — very sorry — that you’d 
think me so foolish or ungrateful that 
I’d be tired of yourself and your little 
family and long to be with the likes 
of thos.e boys. Being here is next* to 
being with my own mother — God rest 
her soul this night! Sure I think my 
heart would break if you’d turn me 
away from this.” 

Mrs. Olsen was both mollified and 
pleased at his words. 


94 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


am so glad to hear you talk that 
way, Michael!” she said, a broad smile 
lighting up her kind face. “It makes me 
feel good again. But don’t you make 
a mistake and believe those poys is 
going to be friends and good with you 
if they begin to speak friendly. Then 
they are thinking of the worst thing 
they can do to you. Father Ramon he 
do everything he can for them; but he 
can’t stand them no longer. If they 
find you stand good with him, they 
either pretend they are not against you 
and do you something on the sly, or 
else they come out open and maybe beat 
you in some corner on a dark night. 
But come now, we go, or we will be late 
for Benediction.” 

There was no service but the Rosary 
at Father Ramon’s church that night. 
The choir was not present, the whilom 
servers did not make their appearance, 
and Michael made himself as useful to 
the priest as circumstances would per- 
mit. Having made an engagement to 
come on the following evening for his 
first lesson in Spanish, he rejoined the 
Olsens in the vestibule, where he found 
himself face to face -with Mrs, Donovan, 


FRIENDS AND FOES. 


95 


the policeman^s wife, who recognized 
him at once. 

“And where’s little Neddie?” asked 
the good woman, as they walked down 
the steps in company. 

“I don’t know, ma’am,” replied 
Michael, at a loss to understand her 
meaning. 

“Little Neddie — my little Neddie,” she 
added. “He told me he was playing 
with you this afternoon in the park, 
and that he was to meet you to-night 
at church. I don’t often come in the 
evenings myself, but I thought I’d take 
a run over and we’d be home together. 
Maybe he didn’t overtake you.” 

“I don’t know the names of any 
boys hereabouts, ma’am,” said Michael, 
slowly, not wishing either to tell an 
untruth himself nor to criminate “little 
Neddie,” whom he had not, to his 
knowledge, seen that afternoon. It did 
not occur to him at the moment that 
the boy might have been one of the 
party who had assailed him in the park. 

“To tell you the truth,” continued 
Mrs. Donovan, with a voluble burst 
of confidence which appeared surprising 
in a stranger, “my boys are a pretty 


96 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


liard lot to manage. The father’s away 
always at night, and they’ve got 
running with a crowd I don’t much like. 
I can’t be too hard on them altogether; 
for they must have some pleasure. Yet 
I don’t like this outdoor business after 
dark. It isn’t the best thing for boys. 
Little Neddie’s took up with the crowd 
lately, too; and I’m in dread he’ll be 
wanting to go every night like the 
others. I was glad when he told me 
he was with you to-day, especially when 
my husband came home with the story 
of how them rowdies were guying you 
in the park.” 

Turning to look for Mrs. Olsen, 
Michael saw that she was just behind 
him, with Gustave and Lena. 

“Come down to the house; it’s early 
yet,” said Mrs. Donovan. “I’d like 
you’d get well acquainted with the 
boys, though I don’t expect any of them 
will be in yet. I don’t see little Neddie 
anywhere,” she went on, peering into 
the darkness. “I’ll bet a nickel he was 
fooling me, the rogue, when he said he 
was coming to church. I’ll give him 
a beating if I find out he did that. The 
father would be raging if he knew that 


FRIENDS AND FOES. 


97 


boy was out nights. I dare not tell him 
of it, for fear he’d kill the child. He’s 
a terrible man when he’s angry; good- 
natured people always are. Come on 
down with me.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t go down to-night,” 
said Michael, turning to the Olsens, 
who were now waiting on the sidewalk 
beside him. “I’m stopping with these 
people, and I must go home with thenu 
This is Mrs. Donovan, Mrs. Olsen,” he 
continued. “Maybe you’re not known 
to each other.’' 

Mrs. Olsen came forward and cord- 
ially extended her hand. 

“I’ve heard Michael talk of you,” she 
said, “and of how good you were to 
him when he came first. It will be nice 
that he goes to see you sometimes, but 
I think not to-night.” 

They were walking together toward 
the corner as she spoke. A boy sud- 
denly darted from behind the cedars, 
disappearing in the opposite direction. 
It was “little Neddie,” afraid of being 
seen by his mother in the company of 
“the gang,” who were hidden among 
the tall cedars, waiting for Michael. 
Disappointed at not seeing him, as he 


98 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

came out through the church instead 
of by the sacristy, they had sent “the 
kid” to reconnoitre; but the sight of 
his mother in such close proximity had 
filled his young veins with terror. Un- 
mindful of the duty as advance-guard 
to which he had been assigned by his 
comrades, he made swift tracks for 
home, where his mother found him, 
sitting by the fire, with the cat on his 
knee. 

“Where were you that I didn’t see 
you in church, Neddie?” she inquired. 
“Michael was there. I was talking to 
him and that Dutchwoman he’s stop- 
ping with. I wonder he didn’t choose 
a boarding-house among his own 
people?” she added, removing her 
bonnet and smoothing the strings. 

“I was in the back,’^ promptly replied 
the young hopeful. “Michael fooled me, 
he did. I waited a quarter of an hour 
at the comer for him and he didn’t 
come. Then I came home. I didn’t 
know you was at church.” 

“Maybe he forgot it,” said his mother. 
“He’s a fine little fellow, and I hope 
you’ll bring him here. I’d like Paul and 
Peter to get friendly with him; he’s 


FRIENDS AND FOES. 


99 


more of tlieir age than yours, Neddie. 
It’s nearly nine, and I don’t suppose 
they’ll be in this hour. Where can 
they go this way nights, think you?” 

^‘They went down to see that great 
Australian steamer come in, with some 
more fellows,” replied Neddie, knowing 
that they had been intending to do so 
after they had “finished up” Michael. 

“Well, that’s no harm,” said the 
indulgent mother. “It’s a fine sight to 
see a big ship coming in with all the 
lights blazing. But your father is so 
against boys being out at night that 
there would be trouble if he knew they 
do be out this way. But boys — and girls 
too — are different now from what they 
were when I was young. They don’t 
mind their parents any more. Go to 
bed now, Neddie; you must be up early 
for school in the morning.” 

Neddie did not budge, even though 
his mother repeated her command a few 
moments later, from the depths of the 
capacious rocking-chair where she had 
seated herself, rosary in hand, to await 
the return of the other boys. He was 
suddenly reminded, however, that he 
was still subject to authority when the 
iMtfa 


100 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

request had passed unnotieed for the 
third time. Rising from her ehair, Mrs. 
Donovan gave him a sound box on the 
ear. 

“Take that now, and go to your bed 
at onee!” she exelaimed; and the boy 
went whimpering upstairs. 

It was after ten o’eloek when the 
others, stealing in, found her asleep in 
her ehair. None too anxious to arouse 
her, they went on tiptoe up the stairs, 
barring the bed-room door as a pre- 
eaution against possible eorreetion 
should their mother awake and find 
that they had returned. When she 
opened her eyes at half-past ten, the 
caps on the table gave evidence of their 
return. But there was no thought of 
vexation in her easy-going soul. 

“They were loath to waken me,” she 
said to herself, as she fastened doors 
and windows. “They knew I was tired, 
the poor little fellows!” 

Having finished her preparations for 
the night, she retired to her bed, 
conscious of rectitude, and of the recita- 
tion of “the fifteen decades,” with which 
she always made it a rule to finish the 
Lord’s Day. 


X. 

ON THE WORLD AGAIN. 

“Michael,” said Mr. O’Donnell, a few 
days after the meeting with Mrs. Dono- 
van, “there was a boy here looking for 
you while you were down at the Ad~ 
miral Nelson with those supplies, — a 
boy that I don’t like the looks of. His 
name is Curtin, and he belongs to a bad 
crowd. I hope you’re not beginning to 
make acquaintance with him or his 
comrades; for if you do, I can tell you 
it will be a very bad move, my boy.” 

Michael was on his knees, winding a 
large coil of rope into the spiral form his 
employer liked to see. It might have 
been the exertion which caused his face 
to flush, but flushed it certainly was as, 
looking up, he found the eyes of his 
master fixed somewhat sternly upon 
him. But he answered without hesi- 
tation: 

**'He’s no friend of mine, sir. I know 

the boys he goes with have a bad name ; 

101 


102 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


but I’ve been thinking that maybe 
that’s part of the reason they are so 
bad. I saw that boy for the first time 
last Sunday morning on my way home 
from Mass. He and some more boys 
used to serve for Father Ramon, but 
they got vexed about something and 
left him in the lurch. Mrs. Olsen told 
me all about them; and I saw the 
crowd together last Sunday afternoon 
in the park.” 

“I hope you haven’t begun to run 
round already with that ‘ gang ’ Sunday 
afternoons, Michael,” rejoined Mr. 
O’Donnell, brusquely. “If so, it’s only 
a question of time — and a short time 
at that — when you and I will part 
company. Mrs. Olsen won’t have any 
such rowdies in her house either, — I am 
sure of that much, at least.” 

Michael was annoyed by his employ- 
er’s tone, and also because he thought 
Mr. O’Donnell could not have believed 
his assertion with regard to young 
Curtin. Otherwise, it seemed to him he 
would not have spoken as he did. 

“I said I didn’t know him well, sir; 
and I saw the others only once. I was 
with the Olsens, and— and — there were 


ON THE WORLD AGAIN. 


103 


some words — lie began, then suddenly 
relapsed into silence. 

Mr. O’Donnell was indeed a good man 
in some respects, but his was a pecul- 
iar temperament. Ordinarily, whether 
things went well or ill he was even- 
tempered, reasonable and just. But at 
times, and especially when his sciatica 
troubled him very much — as it often did 
on damp days like the present, — his 
whole nature seemed to change. He 
became perverse, unkind, and sarcastic, 
to the extent almost of exasperation. 
At such times his faith in human nature, 
particularly that of boys, suffered an 
eclipse; he was capable of almost any 
injustice; he would say and do things 
which very soon afterward he would 
have given much to recall. 

“Well! ” he snarled, as Michael paused 
in the middle of his explanation, casting 
about in his thoughts for some way oi 
finishing it without criminating the 
boys who had assailed him in the park, 
and whom Mr. O’Donnell regarded with 
the same feelings as did most of their 
neighbors. “Well, I say! And why 
don’t you go on? Trying to invent 
some excuse, I suppose, for having had 


104 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


‘words’ with Mrs. Olsen. She was for 
your good, as I am. And yet you’ve 
had ‘ words ’ with her already, I learn ! 
A bad beginning, sir, — a bad begin- 
ning.” 

Miehael sat down on the pile of rope 
he had just finished making into a 
symmetrical roll. He hung his head and 
cast down his eyes ; for he did not wish 
Mr. O’Donnell to see the tears which 
were fast fiHmg them. (Boys are 
always ashamed of tears.) It was for 
the same reason that he replied, in a 
tone whieh was almost inaudible : 

“I did not say I had ‘words’ with 
Mrs. Olsen, sir. I—” 

“Don’t mumble like that! ” exelaimed 
his master. “And don’t try to deny 
what you said only a moment ago.” 

Miehael sat ereet. 

“I’m denying nothing,” he said, 
stoutly. “You misunderstood me. Mrs. 
Olsen had nothing to do with my — ” 

“Mrs. Olsen has everything to do with 
the company you keep — everything! Do 
you hear me?” 

“Yes, sir, I hear you,” said the boy, 
half stunned and very much wounded 
by this new aspect ©f things. His large. 


ON THE WORLD AGAIN. 


105 


soft, blue eyes looked half reproachfully, 
half appealingly into those of his em- 
ployer. But the unconsciously pathetic 
glance served only to excite Mr. 
O’Donnell’s ire still further. He chose to 
misinterpret that along with the rest. 

“ Don’t look at me like that,” he said ; 
“ and don’t answer me that way. ‘ Yes, 
sir, I hear you.’ Why didn’t you add: 
‘But I won’t heed’?” 

“Because I did not mean it, sir,” 
replied Michael, relapsing into silence. 

Mr. O’Donnell walked the length of 
the counter in three long strides, with 
his hands under his coat tails. Return- 
ing he again faced the boy. 

“But what did yon mean, then?” he 
roared, standing over him in a threat- 
ening attitude. 

“Nothing,” said the boy, in a low 
tone, his eyes on the floor. 

“Hold up your head; don’t hang it 
like a thief or a rogue. Open your 
mouth when you speak. I don’t 
wonder, though, you’re ashamed to 
confess that you’d act contrary to the 
advice of the good woman that took 
you in off the street, like I did myself, 
you little beggarl A boy that could be 


106 THE FORTUNES OE A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


ungrateful to a good woman like that — 
well, I won’t say what’s in store for 
him.” 

Michael stood up. 

“I am not a beggar, sir! ” he said, and 
there was a flush on his cheek and a fire 
in his eye. “ I never was a beggar, and, 
please God, I never shall be as long as I 
have two hands to work with. I had 
two pounds in my pocket the day I 
came to you, and I have them yet. 
You were good to take me in, and so 
was Mrs. Olsen; but I’ve earned my 
wages with you, and I’ve paid my 
week’s board out of them to her. She’ll 
not gainsay me, if you ask her. And 
now, sir,” he continued, “as I do not 
seem to please you. I’ll be going at once; 
though I’m sure I don’t know what 
I’ve done to draw down your anger.” 

*^Done! you impudent little scoun- 
drel I ” shouted the old man. “I’d like to 
know what you have not done 1 Scarce 
a fortnight in the place, and you’ve 
taken up with the worst lot of rufiians 
in the ward, besides quarrelling and 
giving a taste of your impertinence to 
one of the best women God ever made. 
Get out of this as quick as possible, you 


ON THE WORLD AGAIN. 


107 


rascal! Go back to Mrs. Olsen’s for 
your traps, and find some other lodg- 
ing-place at once. It isn’t the first time 
I’ve been fooled in a boy, but it’s going 
to be the last.” 

The old man came closer and closer to 
the boy as he spoke, shaking a threaten- 
ing finger, till Michael thought he was 
about to strike him. But Mr. O’Donnell 
had no such intention. With a sudden 
turn on his heel, he strode rapidly 
toward the back part of the shop, seat- 
ing himself in an arm-chair near the 
stove. Michael took his cap from the 
nail where he had hung it that morning 
and passed into the street. 

Was it only that morning, not more 
than two hours ago ? It seemed to him 
like a long and drear}," lifetime since he 
had left Mrs. Olsen and Lena at the 
breakfast table, with little Gustave 
standing on the threshold of the bed- 
room door, his eheeks flushed with pink, 
his yellow curls tangled all over his 
head,— just as he had climbed out of bed. 
The boy had kissed him and hurried 
away; but he would never kiss him 
again, he thought — or at least but once, 
for good-bye. He must go away agaui 


108 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

—find a new situation and a new home. 
Another place he might possibly be able 
to secure, where he would be as well off 
as he had been with Mr. O'Donnell ; but 
another home — ah, no ! there could not 
be two like that in all that great city, 
hardly in the whole world. He was 
very sure no boy ever did have as pretty 
and comfortable a room as the snug 
little nest he had kept so tidily, which 
he had so enjoyed; in which he had 
thought and dreamed and planned, and 
slept so soundly, and thanked God so 
fervently for during a short little fort- 
night. Yes, only a fortnight, and now 
all was over. 

It never occurred to the poor desolate 
lad that, in commanding him to leave 
Mrs. Olsen’s, the unreasonable old man 
had exceeded his authority. His heart 
was filled with a vague sense of in- 
justice, but his feelings were as yet too 
confusing to be analyzed. Had he 
reflected upon it at all, he would have 
thought, in his inexperience, that the 
landlord had a perfect right to dictate 
whom his tenants should or should not 
harbor. As he walked slowly up the 
hill, furtively brushing away the tears 


ON THE WOELD AGAIN. 


109 


that would come to his eyes in spite of 
his efforts to repress them, he remem- 
bered that Mrs. Olsen and the children 
were spending the day with a friend. 
He had taken his lunch to the shop on 
this account, and had left it there, of 
course. He felt relieved at the thought 
of not being obliged to go through 
the pain of parting, welcoming their 
absence as a slight alleviation of his 
sorrow. 

The door was locked; there was no 
one in sight. He knew that the kitchen 
window was fastened only by a nail — 
inserted between the lower and upper 
sash and bent upward, after a device 
of Mrs. Olsen’s own. Knowing the 
mechanism as he did, it was but the 
work of a moment for him to unfasten 
it. Raising the window, he entered the 
kitchen, and was soon in the little room 
to which he was now to bid adieu 
forever. As he went about from place 
to place, picking up his few belongings, 
he no longer tried to hide the tears that 
were rolling down his cheeks. 

His preparations completed, he 
thought only of getting away as soon 
as possible; never reflecting how strange 


110 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

his sudden departure must seem to Mrs. 
Olsen and her daughter. His one 
thought was how to avoid being the 
source of trouble to his kind hostess, — 
as must certainly be the case, he 
concluded, should his leave-taking not 
be speedy. He was fearful also that 
some disarrangement of their plans for 
the day might bring them home 
unexpectedly ; he did not think he could 
bear to see them again. Passing in 
front of the glass door of the sitting- 
room, he saw that his eyes were swollen 
from crying and his cheeks flushed. He 
laid his bundle on a chair, dipped his 
face in a basin of water and succeeded in 
removing nearly all evidence of tears. 
Then, picking up his bundle once more, 
he climbed through the kitchen window, 
— forgetting, in his distress of mind, to 
shut it. At the head of the stairs he met 
a man — a stranger — coming up, who 
asked: 

Where does Mrs. Halligan live?” 

On the third floor,” replied the boy. 

The man looked at him sharply and 
passed on. Michael encountered no one 
else until he reached the sidewalk. As 
the gate closed with a dull, squeaking 


ON THE WORLD AGAIN. 


Ill 


sound behind him, it was with difficulty 
that he stifled a great sob, which 
seemed to rise from the very bottom of 
his wounded, aching heart. He looked 
up at the tall, unlovely building he had 
just left; weather-stained and grimy as 
it was, it seemed to the desolate boy 
that to leave it was like bidding adieu to 
Paradise. He looked up and down, not 
knowing where to go, as he stood there, 
friendless and alone, in the streets of a 
great city. 



XI. 

A DISCOVERY. 

As the door closed upon the retreating 
form of the boy, Mr. O’Donnell made 
an involuntary motion, as though he 
would follow him. But the irascible 
mood which had seized him so unex- 
pectedly still dominated him; he sat 
down again, with an exclamation of 
impatience. He was at heart a just 
man; and he knew, or at least realized 
that he must soon know, how little 
proportionate had been the poor boy’s 
offence to its swift and summary 
punishment. 

A customer entering at this moment 
diverted his thoughts for the time. It 
was the man who had purchased the 
rope; he had come for some more. As 
Mr. O’Donnell measured it, he could 
see the face of the boy as he had looked 
up at him from his work of arranging 
the coil; and the face was wondering 
and aggrieved, neither guilty nor 

U3 


A DISCOVERY. 


113 


asHamed. Something very like a pang 
smote the heart of the old man; he 
was beginning to be sorry that he 
had been so hasty. 

“Why can’t the boy attend to that ? ” 
inquired the customer, as Mr. O’Donnell 
made a show of rolling the rope. 

“He is not here,” answered the latter, 
shortly. “I’ve discharged him. Boys 
are a nuisance, the best of them. I’ll 
try to get on without one after this.” 

“He seemed an unusually bright little 
fellow,” said the other. “Wasn’t he 
here this morning?” 

“Yes; he has just gone,” was the 
reply. “They’re all bothers. If you 
know of any old man that wants a 
light job at small wages, send him 
along, Jimmie.” 

“I’m not knowing any one now, but 
I may,” said the other, as he took 
his leave. 

One customer gone, another followed; 
and so it continued until twelve o’clock, 
when the old man set about preparing 
his frugal lunch. Now again he had 
time for reflection, and his thoughts 
were not pleasant. He could not deny 
that he had acted according to his 


114 THE FOETUNEB OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


mood, not as the facts warranted. To 
have had “words’^ was not an unpar- 
donable sin. 

But why did he take me at my word 
so coolly?” he reasoned. “’Tis too 
independent he was altogether. K he'd 
asked me to let him stop, or just gone 
on with his work and not minded me, 
I’d soon have been out of my anger, and 
could have given him a good advice, 
and it would have been all over — for 
that time at least. But he up like a 
young prince and off with him. He’s an 
ungrateful young vagabond, so he is; 
and I’d do far better not to bother my 
head about him. I shouldn’t wonder 
either” — he mused, as an after-thought 
—“if he wouldn’t be along this after- 
noon, asking my pardon and wanting 
me to take him back.” 

In spite of this assertion, Mr. O’Donnell 
felt morally sure that Michael would 
not return. He had seen enough of his 
character to believe and fear this. I say 
fear; for by three o’clock he had grown 
so uneasy and self-convicted that the 
sight of the honest, pleasant face to 
which he had grown accustomed would 
have been more welcome than he, even 


A DISCOVEEY. 


115 


in his self-accusation, would care to 
acknowledge. The stern reality of the 
situation had begun to assert itself. He 
was convinced that the boy, doing 
exactly as he had told him to do, had 
taken his final departure. 

It was a gloomy afternoon, customers 
few, and the weather threatening rain. 
Although the lay of the wind was not 
any more favorable to Mr. 0’ Donnell’s 
sciatica than it had been in the morn- 
ing, his feelings had undergone an entire 
revolution. By four o’clock he was 
putting up the shutters and arranging 
things for the night. By half-past he 
had arrived at the point of intending to 
seek Michael at Mrs. Olsen’s, and of 
admitting that he had been hasty in the 
morning, and giving him the privilege 
of returning to his employ, provided the 
boy would apologize for his conduct, 
and promise not to have “words” 
again with the good woman beneath 
the shelter of whose kindly roof the old 
man hoped to find him. He never 
thought that the boy might have left 
there already; he did not even remember 
what he said in reference to the matter 
when he had told Michael to go. At 


116 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


five he buttoned up his overcoat, locked 
the door of the shop, and set out in the 
face of a drizzling rain to forgive and 
fetch back the prodigal son. Something 
of the parable was in his mind as he 
walked up the hill at as brisk a pace as 
his lameness would allow; never pausing 
until he reached the big tenement house, 
where he never made his appearance 
except on rent-days. 

“It will be all right, I hope,” he said 
to himself. “ Michael can’t surely be so 
obstinate that he won’t hear to reason 
and promise to do better. I don’t know 
but what the lesson, disagreeable as it 
is, will be a good thing for him. And 
after it’s all settled, and things going 
the right way again, maybe I’ll invite 
myself to a bite of supper, and send out 
for a can of oysters. They’ll be appetiz- 
ing this night. I wonder indeed that 
Mrs. Olsen hasn’t sent him down to me 
again all the afternoon, instead of 
waiting for me to come to him. But 
maybe she did, and the boy was bashful. 
Sure he’s only a child, when all is said.” 

Thus he communed with himself as he 
walked, until he arrived at his destina- 
tion. The yard was empty, but he 


A DISCOVERY. 


117 


heard an unusual murmur of voices on 
the stairway. Ascending, he was sur- 
prised to find a crowd collected on the 
landing, as well as on the porch near 
Mrs. Olsen’s apartments. That good 
woman and her daughter, in street 
attire, were standing at the door. 
Everybody seemed to be talking at 
once. 

“What’s the matter — what can be the 
matter?” inquired the astonished land- 
lord, as a woman made way for him 
to pass. 

“So you have come, Mr. O’Donnell!” 
exclaimed Mrs. Olsen, advancing to 
meet him. “I hope that it is not with 
you, too, as with us; but I fear it, and 
yet I can not believe it. I have won- 
dered that you were not already here 
when we come.” 

“What do you mean, woman?” asked 
the old man, sharply; fearful of he 
knew not what. “Is any one sick or 
dead?” 

“No, thank God! not that,” was the 
reply. “And yet for some it may be 
worse. Don’t you know — can’t you 
guess? He must surely have gone from 
you also?” 


118 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Is it anything about Michael?” asked 
Mr. O’Donnell. 

“It is that,” she replied. “To-day 
Lena and I and the baby we are going 
to spend the day with a friend. I give 
Michael his lunch to the shop. Half an 
hour ago I come home. I find the win- 
dow wide open; the poy’s clothes are 
all gone — everything of his is away. 
My top drawer, where I keep my 
money, is open; my purse, where I have 
it and some rings and breastpins, is 
lying on the floor. The trinkets are 
in the purse, but the money is gone.” 

“How much money, may I ask?” said 
Mr. O’Donnell, in a voice scarcely 
audible. 

“Ten dollars. Oh, how can I ever 
trust again anybody, when that nice- 
acting poy will do that way!” 

“Come inside,” said the old man, — 
“come inside, and shut the door, and 
bid those people go away.” 

At Mrs. Olsen’s request the crowd 
dispersed, though reluctantly. They 
went in. Mr. O’Donnell sat down near 
the table, which he smote angrily with 
his fist. 

“Oh, the villain!” he exclaimed; “the 


A DISCOVERY. 


119 


baby-faced, double-dyed little villain! 
What a hypocrite he was! What time 
was the money taken?’’ 

“How can I know!” answered Mrs. 
Olsen. “I am home at five. No one has 
seen anybody on this porch or heard 
them; for next door Mrs. Potter is 
away on a visit to her sister, and 
upstairs Mrs. Halligan was out all day 
house-cleaning. ’ ’ 

“I discharged the boy this morning, 
after ten,” said the old man. “He must 
have come directly here, taken his 
clothes and the money and made tracks. 
But we can catch him — we can catch 
him.” 

“You discharged him!” said Mrs. 
Olsen. “Then all at once he must have 
become bad or shown his true charac- 
ter. Did you miss something too, then, 
Mr. O’Donnell?” 

“No,” replied the old man. “A boy 
had been hanging around the shop 
looking for him. His name is Curtin; 
he’s no good. I warned Michael not 
to make a companion of the like of him, 
and he denied having any friendship for 
him. One word led to another, and I 
gathered that he had had some dispute 


120 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

with you about the tough crowd the 
Curtin boy belongs to. And the upshot 
of it all was that I told him to go.’^ 

“Michael never had any dispute with 
me about those ‘gang/ ’’ remarked poor 
Mrs. Olsen, mystified by what she had 
just heard. “On Sunday morning, 
because he serves Mass, they try to 
beat him; in the afternoon in the park — ■ 
and we are all along — they want to 
quarrel and fight with him; but he will 
not till they mock at me. Then the 
policeman comes, and they run away. 
Sunday night he is with us at church, 
and comes home with us. All the week 
he is here sharp at his meals; and never 
out at night but Monday, when he 
takes a lesson in Spanish from Father 
Ramon. I can’t think why he tells you 
such a thing, Mr. O’Donnell; I can’t 
think how all at once that fine, good 
boy turns into a rogue, and lies and 
steals and runs away. Oh, that is 
worse than losing the ten dollars — to be 
so deceived!” 

“Your heart is too soft, ma’am,” said 
the old man. “After he had gone I 
thought that maybe I had been hasty, 
so I came up to give him the chance 


A DISCOVERY. 


121 


of going back if he liked. But now 
I see I was harboring a thief all the 
time; and the sooner — for his own sake 
as well as that of the community — we 
get him in custody, the better. I’ll see 
about it at once. He’s the slickest 
rogue I ever saw, and I’ve met with all 
sorts in a long life of nearly seventy 
years.” 

Until now Lena had been silent; but 
when Mr. O’Donnell had finished 
speaking and risen to his feet as if 
about to depart, she said: 

“It all looks bad, but I do not believe 
it is as bad as you think. If Michael 
was sent away, Mr. O’Donnell, he may 
have been frightened and discouraged; 
and when he came home, perhaps he did 
not like to stay with us any more, if he 
had no money to pay his board. And 
if he did take the money — ” 

“Of course he took it,” interrupted 
Mr. O’Donnell. “Haven’t we proof?” 

“It looks like it,” answered the girl; 
“but I don’t see any proof.” 

“Didn’t he take his clothes?” 

The girl looked at him steadily. 
There was the slightest perceptible curl 
oi her lip as she retorted: 


122 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


‘‘How does that prove it?” 

Mr. O’Donnell smiled; he could not 
help it. 

“You’re right, Lena,” he replied. 
“You have me there, I confess. But it’s 
good circumstantial evidence.” 

“I don’t know what you mean by 
that,” she remarked, carelessly. “But I 
am not going to believe Michael is a 
thief till it is proved.” 

“He had some money of his own,” 
said her mother. 

“A couple of pounds. He sent that 
back to his parish priest in Ireland last 
week,” said Mr. O’Donnell. “I got the 
exchange for him. ’Twas his first 
wages, — all he had left after paying his 
board.” 

“Thieves are not like that,” said Mrs. 
Olsen. “I know he borrowed it from 
the priest when he came.” 

“Well, if he had no money,” said 
Lena, stoutly, “he just borrowed yours, 
mother, and will pay it back again.” 

“That was not a way, child, to take 
it and throw my purse on the floor. 
Why not write a little note?” 

Lena shook her head sadly. 

Mr. O’Donnell buttoned his overcoat. 


A DISCOVERY. 


123 


‘‘Talking won’t mend matters,” he 
said. “I’m going straight to police 
headquarters before I put a bite in my 
mouth. If he’s in town yet we’ll nab 
him.” 

Lena turned away, and began to busy 
herself about the room. But as soon as 
the old man had gone she could preserve 
her composure no longer. Throwing 
herself into the rocking chair, and burst- 
ing into tears, she exclaimed: 

“O mother, mother, that poor inno- 
cent little boy!” 



XIL 

A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 

At the very moment when Michael 
stepped upon the pavement, uncertain 
what to do or where to go, Father 
Ramon was talking about him to a 
friend and brother priest in the modest 
parlor of his residence. 

“Sebastiano,’^ he was saying, “at last 
I have found a boy after my own heart 
and yours; such a boy as I have not 
seen since I came to this coast; a boy 
with an honest face, and eyes like wells 
of truth — clear, sparkling, and innocent; 
a real boy, lively and alert, yet with the 
spirit of piety so ingrained, both by 
inheritance and training, that it is 
second nature to him. He has a sharp 
wit, of which he is not 'conscious, so 
simple is he withal ; and his disposition 
is so sweet that he will never hurt 
another with that wit unless indeed — 
poor fellow ! — the world should use him 
very ill. But I fancy life has something 

124 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


125 


good in store for him. He is remark- 
ably clever too, and that without being 
aware of it; eager to learn and quick to 
understand. I have a plan for him. I 
want you to see him. He is like the 
breeze from the mountain or a breath 
of the sea.” 

Father Sebastiano smiled. He was 
older than his friend, neither so impul- 
sive nor enthusiastic; consequently he 
was less frequently disappointed. 

“This must be an Irish boy,” he said, 
dryly; “and one just come over. He 
answers the description well. I have 
seen them before, just like this one; and 
I have seen them later” — ^he sighed — 
“and they were different.” 

“Yes,” replied the other; “an Irish 
boy, of course. There are none like them, 
when they are good. I will stick to it,” 
he said, laughingly, meeting his friend’s 
eyes, which were regarding him quizzi- 
cally. 

Father Sebastiano was amused. 

“You remember when you first came,” 
he said, deliberately, “how you picked 
up a boy here and there, and thought 
you had found a treasure; how full you 
were of plans for his instruction, amuse^ 


126 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


ment, regeneration. I shall say nothing 
of the results, nor bid you not to try 
again; but you were never a bad boy 
yourself, and you don’t know how to 
manage one.” 

“And you?” inquired his friend, with 
an incredulous smile. 

“I was once a very bad boy,” replied 
the other, gravely. “My mother de- 
spaired of me, I believe. But my sur- 
roundings were not the same.” 

“I fancy not,” observed Father Ra- 
mon. “But, jesting apart, I mean to 
take hold of those other young fellows 
again if I possibly can.” 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, 
then,” rejoined Father Sebastiano. 
“Hold the short stick over them at 
first, so to say. They expect it; they 
are accustomed to it. Treat them 
like little animals, until they show 
by their conduct that they are ra- 
tional beings. Then you may begin to 
reap a reward from your labors. But 
to return to your new protege. When 
can you produce him?” 

“To-night,” said the young priest. “I 
want you to see him; I want you to 
take him up there at Mt, Valerian, 


A MUTUAL SUEPRISE. 


127 


He will do you credit, Sebastiano.’’ 

^^And afterward?” 

“Well, he may have a vocation. And 
if not, he will become a good layman. 
I have begun to teach him Spanish; he 
will come again this evening for a 
lesson.” 

While this conversation was being 
held, poor little Michael was wandering 
about the streets, far away from the 
water-front, out in the direction of the 
hills, lest he should meet Mr. O’Donnell 
or some of the customers with whom he 
had become acquainted. He had taken 
an early breakfast, and soon began to 
feel hungry and thirsty. He did not like 
to break the little sum of money in his 
pocket. The amount sent to Ireland 
the week before, in discharge of his debt, 
he had thought he would not need, as 
he was receiving weekly wages. 

Although the month was November, 
and the winter rains at hand, they had 
not yet begun. But the sun did not 
shine that afternoon; there was an un- 
comfortable west wind, which blew 
chilly on the tired limbs of the wan- 
derer, as he strolled aimlessly onward in 
the direction of the foot-hills. He soon 


128 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

reached the broad mesa, odorous of 
sage and mountain fern; and somehow 
it reminded Michael of an Irish heath 
on an autumn afternoon. For the first 
time since he had left his native land he 
felt that utter loneliness which means 
poverty and homelessness. 

At length Michael sat down on a 
rough bench, which some kind-hearted, 
ingenious citizen had fashioned of 
planks laid upon a couple of large 
stones at either end. A small acacia 
tree overshadowed it; the flowers were 
in bloom. “How pretty they are!” 
thought the boy. “They are a little like 
the gorse at home.” Then he sighed, 
laid down his bundle beside him, and 
buried his face in his hands. Tears 
trickled down his cheeks, from which 
some of their usual bright, fresh color 
had already departed; his hands 
trembled, and deep sobs burst from 
his bosom. Poor little fellow! he was 
but an outcast now — an orphaned, 
lonely child, not knowing where he 
might lay his weary head that night. 
It was strange that in his hour of need 
he had not thought at once of going 
tQ Father Ramon, He did think of it 


A MUTUAL, SURPBISE. 


129 


now, after tHe violence of his weeping 
had abated; but it was only to shrink 
from a prospective ordeal which he felt 
he could not endure. He was far from 
that part of the city; he could dimly 
discern the spire of a church from 
where he sat. It would be a long and 
weary walk back; he could not contem- 
plate it in his present mood. He had 
a dim purpose of going farther and still 
farther onward, across the mesa, over 
the foot-hills to the other side, where he 
had a vague idea there were ranches and 
lemon orchards, where he might perhaps 
find employment. It did not occur to 
him that the good priest might, in some 
measure, resent and certainly wonder 
at this abrupt leave-taking: his reason- 
ing faculties were dazed and stunned. 

It was now five o’clock. The usually 
cloudless sky — of whose intense blue the 
Irish boy, accustomed to much rain and 
the ever-changing heavens of his own 
moist little island, sometimes had 
almost wearied — was now overcast and 
threatening. A few drops of rain began 
to fall. A moment before it had been 
light, and now the short twilight was 
over, and the darkness fell suddenly. 


130 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

Michael left the bench where he had 
been sitting, shouldered his bundle once 
more and began to walk onward. He 
looked behind him, deliberating whether 
he should return to town for the night, 
and resume his journey in the morning. 
After reflecting a moment, and gazing 
a little timidly into the lonely darkness 
of the mesa, he eoncluded not to retrace 
his steps, as it would be only so much 
time lost. He was not so far away 
from the habitations of men as he had 
thought. He could still hear the tinkle 
of street cars through the evening 
silence, as the sounds floated up from 
the sloping streets to the highest point 
of the mesa, where he now stood. He 
could see the scattered lights of the city 
beneath him, distinguish the faint out- 
line of the bay and the islands; he could 
hear the roar of the surf as it broke 
upon the shore. On his left the prom- 
ontory loomed black into the night; on 
its sharpest point the light-house, indi- 
cated by the bright revolving flame, 
now hidden, now revealed, like a single^ 
brilliant star. On the right, sixty miles 
to the southward. Table Mountain, 
which had always suggested Sinai to 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


131 


the boy, looked down in solemn silence 
over land and sea. There, in front of 
him, behind the foot-hills, rose San 
Miguel, grand, majestic, half veiled by 
the shadows of the night. 

For a brief moment he stood uncer- 
tain, then turned resolutely away and 
trudged on. He half hoped to en- 
counter some belated herdsman return- 
ing from the city, who, perhaps, might 
give him a lift — even take him to his 
own home and give him something to 
do. But as he mused and hoped a sud- 
den pang smote him: he had no recom- 
mendation. If he were asked any ques- 
tions, what could he say? His heart 
fell again. In his anxiety he did not 
observe the road deviated slightly; he 
had made a detour to the left in the 
darkness, and, without being aware 
of it, he began to retrace his steps 
toward the town. On one side the mesa 
stretched broad and boundless through 
the night; on the other, a long deep 
canon curved like an interminable mon- 
ster snake. 

Suddenly he perceived a light in the 
distance; it seemed to be located in the 
canon, or between two small ones 


132 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

almost at right angles to each other. 
He had now lost his bearings, and 
began to feel bewildered. The light 
grew larger and brighter, a sharp de- 
clivity in the road bringing it more 
nearly into view. He then remembered 
that Lena had told him of a few Ind- 
ians who were encamped in this neigh- 
borhood, making it their permanent 
abode. He had intended visiting the 
place some Sunday afternoon, and was 
now almost sure that he had chanced 
upon the very spot she had described. 
He felt no fear of them; for he knew 
that, though poor and ignorant, they 
were good, honest folk. Catholics like 
himself. Perhaps they would give him 
shelter for the night. 

Swinging his bundle from one shoul- 
der to the other, he prepared to descend. 
As he did so he heard voices — not those 
of Indians,— and before he had reached 
the foot of the slope he saw that the 
light he had perceived came from a fire 
built inside what might be called a cairn 
of large stones, about three feet high. 
They were arranged with some skill in 
a semi-circular fashion within a circum- 
ference of about twelve feet. Within 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


133 


this circle, surrounding . the fire, over 
which a huge pot was swung, gypsy 
fashion, and from which ascended a 
most appetizing odor, albeit one to 
which Michael had hitherto been a 
stranger, several youngsters were lying 
or sitting in various comfortable atti- 
tudes. As Michael suddenly appeared 
before them, they sprang to their feet, 
and one — whom he at once recognized 
as the Charley Dortey whose maternal 
parent had aspirations as a Daughter of 
the Revolution — exclaimed: 

“Mates, we are betrayed! Let’s run. 
The cops is behind that feller, I know.” 



XIII. 

ARRESTED. 

For one second Michael stood in 
amazement; but, recovering himself, he 
called out : 

“Why, boys, there’s no one behind 
me, and no one after you, that I know 
of. Why should there be? ’Twas an 
accident, seeing the light, that brought 
me down here at all.” 

Reassured, the boys halted in their 
impromptu flight. As a matter of fact, 
there was no reason why they should 
have been afraid of the police, or of 
being disturbed by any one; for, as far 
as the majority of them were concerned, 
they had done nothing recently which 
would make them amenable to pursuit 
or arrest. But they liked to imagine 
themselves outlaws, after the manner of 
those of whom they were in the habit 
of reading, and whom they wished to 
emulate. On one of their Sunday after- 
noon tramps they had chanced upon 

134 


ARRESTED. 


135 


this secluded and rather romantic spot; 
and, after consulting together, had 
resolved to occupy it occasionally as a 
sort of outlying fastness, where they 
could enjoy themselves in the gypsy 
fashion they affected, as well as elude 
the observation of their parents and 
guardians, likely to be more or less con- 
cerned about their doings after nightfall. 

To-night, after sundry evasions on the 
part of all in regard to their absence 
from under the paternal roof-trees, they 
had occupied it for the first time; and 
were busily engaged in roasting pota- 
toes when Michael came upon them. 

As they gathered in a not unfriendly 
group about him, he recognized them as 
the same boys who had been together in 
the park on Sunday; observing at the 
same time that the elder Donovan boy 
was among them. The others he did 
not know, even by sight, with the 
exception of Reggie Curtin, who stood 
a little in the background. Michael 
remembered with a pang that this boy 
had indirectly been the cause of the 
misfortune which had befallen him; and 
all that it implied came home to him 
with full force as he realized for the 


136 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


hundredth time that day that he was 
now indeed an outcast and a wanderer, 
without food, shelter, or a friend. The 
savor of the roasting potatoes, which 
Charlie Dortey had been turning in the 
ashes, smelt good in his nostrils; he was 
cold, tired and hungry. 

As the boys resumed their positions 
on the ground, Michael swung the 
bundle from his shoulder and laid it 
down. Donovan and a boy whom he 
did not know made room for him be- 
tween them. Nothing loath, he stretched 
his weary limbs to the cheerful fire, 
feeling a sensation of comfort for the 
first time in many hours. 

“What ye on the road for?^’ asked 
Donovan, pointing to the bundle. “Got 
tired of the old man, or did he fire ye 
for somethin’ ye done? Kind of tough 
to get on with an old feller like him. 
Say, ain’t it?” 

“He sent me off this morning,” said 
Michael, knitting his brows. “As v\rell 
as I can remember, I didn’t do anything 
out of the way; but he thought different; 
so, as you said, I’m on the road.” Then, 
turning to Curtin, he added: “What 
were you wanting me for these days? 


ARRESTED. 


137 


Mr. O’Donnell said you were around 
asking for me — ” 

With one accord the boys turned 
toward Curtin as he replied : 

“Well, I was a-lookin’ for ye. Ye see, 
not being partic’lar about goin’ to 
school this week — ’cause my mommer’s 
gone out to Pleasant Valley a-visitin’, — 
I jest thought I’d step round and see ye. 
The fellers wanted to know what line 
ye meant to fight it out on, — whether 
ye’d jine with us or go agin us, or maybe 
patch it up with him.” 

“Patch up what?” inquired Michael, 
entirely mystified. 

“Why, that there fuss we had with 
Father Ramon!” chimed in Charlie 
Dortey. “We done fine for him, till he 
got too smart, and wanted us to be 
around pretty near every evenin’, — a 
learnin’ catechism and serving and 
nothing but religion a-goin’ on all the 
time. He said he’d get us up a baseball 
nine and a uniform. And if he keeps his 
promise, we’ll all go back; but if he 
don’t, we won’t do nothin’ of the kind. 
Ye bet he don’t catch us again in a 
hurry, if we kin help it.” 

Michael was silent. His head had 


l38 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


begun to ache violently; everything 
seemed to swim before his eyes. Oh, if 
they would only begin to hand those 
delicious potatoes around, how delighted 
he would be ! 

‘‘The spuds is done!” exclaimed 
Charlie at this moment. “Fall to, 
fellers. Jack, haul out the salt. Curtin, 
where’s that butter ye said ye had? 
Where’d ye git it ? ’Surp it ? ” 

All joined in the laugh that followed. 
Curtin retired to the bushes for a 
moment, reappearing with several 
packages, which his companions eagerly 
opened, spreading the contents on the 
ground, the paper in which they had 
been wrapped serving for dishes. They 
contained crackers, cheese and pickles, — 
excellent in quality and plentiful in 
quantity. Although the boys had all 
had supper before leaving home, they 
ate with appetite and relish, so that 
Michael did not feel himself conspicuous 
by the zest with which he partook of 
the good things set before him. 

“Say, look a-here, Curtin!” said one 
of the others. “Where did ye git that 
stuff? Ye ain’t got no uncle in a grocery 
store, have ye ? ” 


ARRESTED. 


139 


“Never ye mind,” said Curtin, with a 
knowing wink. “I ain’t got no uncle in 
no grocery, neither clerkin’ nor drivin’ 
wagon; but I can tell ye fellers that ye’d 
better not give me the cold shoulder 
from now on, if ye want a good thing 
in victuals. I’ve got a pretty steady 
thing on ’em now, I think.” 

“ How ? ” inquired Donovan. 

“I’ve got a little job, and I get them 
things for pay. I ain’t a-goin’ to tell 
none of ye what it is, ’cause ye might 
catch on.” 

“I don’t care where they come from, 
so I get a taste of ’em,” said another of 
the group. “How often ye goin’ to 
come out?” 

“Wednesdays and Saturdays, ” replied 
Donovan, — “that is when we can get 
off. I think we ought to be able to hook 
some jam or jelly off and on at home. 
What je goin’ to do with yerself, kid?” 
he continued, turning abruptly to 
Michael. 

“I don’t know,” said the boy, slowly 
and sadly. “I thought of going on a 
ranch. Could I get anything to do, 
think you? ” 

“Mebbe,” said the other, indifferently. 


140 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


^‘But where ye goin’ to-night — where 
ye made up yer mind to sleep?” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Miehael. “I 
was going to walk on and on, thinking 
I might meet some house where I could 
stay to-night.” 

“If Pete was here, ye couldn’t get off 
so easy,” said Curtin. “We’ve been real 
good to ye, considerin’ — ” 

“ Who is Pete ? ” asked Michael. 

“Why, he’s the boss ! ” said the other. 
“He promised ye a lickin’, he did,-^ 
wanted to let ye see what stuff we 
fellers was made of. He won’t stand no 
sneakin’ round where he is.” 

“Come here, Reggie! Want to speak 
to ye a minute,” called Donovan from 
the opposite side of the fire. 

As Curtin lounged over to Donovan, 
Charlie Dortey moved closer to Michael. 

“Put yer hea‘d down and pretend 
not to be listenin’,” he said. “I jest 
want to tell ye Reggie Curtin’s the 
meanest sneak ye ever seen. He’s been 
hangin’ round old man O’Donnell’s all 
the week, jest to try to coax ye out here 
to-night ; and Pete was goin’ to lick ye 
good in this very place.” 

“I thought you and Curtin were the 


ARRESTED. 


141 


greatest friends/’ said Michael, looking 
at the boy with an expression savoring 
somewhat of contempt. 

“So we used to be,” said Dortey; “we 
was pardners till last week. But he’s 
so mean! Whenever he makes a raise, 
he kind of sneaks off and don’t share. I 
ain’t got no use for him no more. I 
always stick to my side of the bargain, 
but he don’t when he can help it.” 

Michael did not reply. His fatigue 
was so great and the fire so pleasant 
that he would have enjoyed lying down 
beside it to rest himself for the night. 
But he did not like the company into 
which he had fallen; and felt convinced, 
moreover, that the boys were not so far 
away from home with the consent of 
their parents, or those who stood to 
them in the place of parents. He 
wished they would think it time to go 
and take their departure, so that he 
might remain where he was. He 
thought it would not be difficult for 
him to make himself comfortable until 
morning, when he proposed to resume 
his journey. 

While he was reflecting, the other 
boys collected at a distance; and, now 


142 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

joined by Charlie Dortey, were deep in a 
low-Yoiced discussion, in which it was 
evident they did not wish Michael to 
share. Suddenly the crackling of the dry 
brush behind the declivity betrayed the 
near approach of newcomers; and the 
sound of voices — that of a man and a 
boy — fell on the ears of the listeners. 

“Oh, it’s the baby!” whispered Dono- 
van to the others. “He was mad 
’cause I wouldn’t let him come along. 
He said he’d tell father, and he’s done it. 
Quick, fellers! Cheese it! — quick!” 

The words had scarcely passed his 
lips when they had all disappeared, 
scurrying quickly through the bushes, 
and down the hill to the narrow street, 
from whence they could take the quick- 
est route for home. Almost at the same 
moment a burly man, holding a small 
boy by the hand, appeared on the other 
side, pausing directly in front of 
Michael, who had not stirred from his 
position. Michael looked up, but 
did not move. The firelight shone in 
his face, so that he did not at once 
recognize Policeman Donovan and his 
youngest son. But the policeman knew 
him directly. 


ARRESTED. 


143 


Hello!” he exelaimed, in eonster- 
nation. “This is how it is. Too bad — 
too bad. I didn’t expeet to meet 
here when I eame, but it is a good job I 
did. I was looking for my own boy. 
W as he with the ero wd that ran away 
just now ? Say youngster, was he ? 
Tell me the truth at onee. That’s all I 
want to know, — and I must know 
it.” 

“I think he was, sir,” replied Miehael, 
simply, but reluetantly. 

“Well, I ean settle with him when I 
get him in the house,” said the poliee- 
man. “But it will go harder with you, 
my lad. I’m sorry you’ve learned the 
ropes so soon. Come along with me, 
Miehael. You’ll have a bed in the 
station-house to-night. You are under 
arrest. Come with me.” 

The boy jumped to his feet. 

“For what, sir?” he gasped. 

“For breaking into Mrs. Olsen’s 
house and taking a ten-dollar gold pieee 
from her purse,” was the reply. 

“I never did it, sir, — I never did it!” 
answered the bewildered boy, as the 
polieeman laid his hand on his shoulder. 
“Oh, do they think I’d pay baek that 


144 THE FOKTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


good woman with such a trick! Who 
said I did such a thing, sir ? ” 

“The window was found open, your 
things and the money are gone. You’ll 
have hard work to prove yourself 
innocent, O’Donnell. Come!” 

Kicking poor Michael’s bundle out of 
the way, he pushed the boy in front of 
him; and, followed by the little fellow, 
hushed and awed by the serious aspect 
of what had occurred, they took their 
way silently down the hill in the direc- 
tion of the distant lights blinking and 
glimmering like a thousand eyes through 
the murky fog. 



XIY. 

IN THE STATION-HOUSE. 

Not a word was spoken as the trio 
deseended the hill. The polieeman in the 
middle, with a boj at either side, they 
silently pnrsned their way until level 
ground was reached again, and the 
lights of the electric car coming swiftly 
in their direction showed that they were 
nearing the terminus of the road. 
Michael was too bewildered and horror- 
stricken in the position in which he now 
found himself to give voice to the varied 
emotions which agitated his soul. Mr. 
Donovan was evidently occupied with 
very disagreeable thoughts; for his 
brow was contracted, his lips set; and 
Neddie, who had some trouble in keep- 
ing up with his long, swinging strides, 
knew better than to venture any 
remark unless invited to do so by a 
question from his father. 

Angry, and filled with spite against 
his brothers and their companions 

X45 


146 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

because they would not permit him to 
accompany them on all their nocturnal 
expeditions, Neddie had followed them 
unseen, thus learning the secret of their 
rendezvous. This had taken place three 
or four nights previous; and on this 
particular evening, having vainly en- 
treated Paul and Peter to allow him to 
join them, he had inwardly resolved to 
betray them at the first opportunity. 
That opportunity had come speedily. 
His father had been unexpectedly 
changed that afternoon to day from 
night duty, and had returned to his 
home forthwith, glad to be allowed to 
spend an evening once more in the 
bosom of his family. To his surprise, 
he found the older boys absent; while 
their mother, not having had time to 
formulate an excuse, could give no 
account of them. It was then that 
the industrious Neddie, looking up 
from the lesson which he pretended 
to be studying, had proclaimed the 
villainy and deceit of his brothers, 
offering at the same time to lead his not 
unwilling father to the scene of their 
crimes. Thus it was that, by a seeming 
accident, they came upon Michael, 


IN TEHE STATION-HOUSE. 


147 


whose name and description had been 
left at the office of the chief of police 
that afternoon by his late employer, 
and from thence telephoned to the 
several outlying precincts. 

As the street car approached the 
terminus, close to which they now 
stopped, Mr. Donovan turned to his son. 

“Neddie,” he said, “you sit at the 
other end of the car, and jump off at 
Diston Street. If the boys are home, 
tell them not to dare go to bed till 
I come. If they’re not in yet, don’t say 
a word, but go to bed yourself, like a 
good boy; and tell your mother she 
needn’t wait up. I’ll be home as soon 
as I can.” 

Michael’s pale cheek burned red in the 
darkness. 

“He does not want people to think 
the boy was in company with a thief,” 
he thought, as, obedient to a not un- 
gentle push from the policeman, he 
stepped onto the platform of the car, 
which was soon rushing back in the 
direction from which it had arrived. 

“Come inside,” said the policeman, 
with another push. “The fog is very 
wet.” 


148 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

At first they were the only passen- 
gers, but gradually the ear filled up; 
and it soon became evident to the boy 
that, though the policeman was in plain 
clothes, nearly everyone was aware 
that he had a prisoner in custody. He 
dared not look up; but sat like a 
criminal, with his head on his breast, 
his eyes fixed on the ground. A touch 
on his shoulder recalled him to himself; 
he arose mechanically and followed the 
policeman from the car. They had 
stopped at a side street, long, narrow, 
and not well lighted, save for the two 
electric candles which blazed high in 
front of a tall building about half-way 
down the block. 

“Come,^’ said the policeman, taking 
him by the arm for the first time. 

Michael shuddered, drawing back in- 
voluntarily. Only yesterday he had 
seen another policeman thus leading 
another boy about his own age, and 
he had pitied the poor fellow from the 
bottom of his heart. But that seemed 
so long ago he could only remember it, 
and now he was being led in the same 
manner — where? 

“Now, none of that, my man!’^ said 


IN THE STATION-HOUSE. 


149 


his custodian, tightening his hold. 
“I’ve got you fast, and you can’t get 
away. Don’t you try it either, or it 
will be the worse for you.” 

“I wasn’t trying to get away, sir,” 
said the boy, in a frightened tone. “Oh, 
where are you taking me?” 

“To the lock-up. Where else?” was 
the reply. “To the office first, and then 
into a cell for the night. To-morrow 
morning you’ll be up before the police 
judge; and, if I’m not mistaken, by this 
time to-morrow night you’ll be snug in 
bed at the Reform Farm.” 

Once more the boy shrunk back; and 
this time he stood still, forcing his 
captor, for the moment, to do the same. 

“Oh, ’tis a dream, — it must be a 
dream!” he cried, in his despair. “I’ve 
heard of the like, sir, — I’ve often heard 
of the like. It must be a fever that’s 
got hold of me and into my head; or 
sure I could never have really gone 
through all that’s happened me this 
long, long, weary day. And so light- 
hearted as I was in the morning, and 
so eager for the work! Oh, sir, tell me 
it’s only a dream!” 

Wild-eyed and trembling, the poor 


150 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


child looked beseechingly up into the 
erstwhile kindly face of his first friend in 
the great city he had thought so beauti- 
ful, but which was now treating him so 
cruelly. But that face was changed: 
sternly and uncompassionately it con- 
fronted him. Yet for a moment the 
expression altered: the eyes grew softer, 
and the boy was quick to see it. 

“Oh, don't take me in there, sir!” he 
pleaded, pointing to the big dark build- 
ing, with the flaming lights like two 
great, pitiless eyes blazing out into the 
night. 

As he spoke a sergeant with a silver 
star on his breast appeared at the open 
door. Policeman Donovan was recalled 
to himself; he remembered his duty, 
and, without another word, faced the 
boy about and marched him into the 
office. 

“Thought you were off duty to- 
night?” remarked the officer at the desk. 

“I am,” was the reply; “but I caught 
up with this fellow accidentally. He’s 
wanted for stealing.” 

Michael staggered, looking vacantly 
about him, and sank into a chair. 

“Get up, lad!” said the officer, roughly. 


iN THE STATION-HOUSE. 


151 


“Tell me your name and where you 
live.” 

“My name is Michael O’Donnell, sir,” 
said the boy in a broken voice. 

“And where do you live, eh?” 

“I don’t live anywhere, God help me!” 
was the reply. “But I did not steal the 
money — or never a copper in all my life, 
sir. Please, please let me go!” 

“And where will you go if you have 
no home?” inquired the man at the 
desk, in a kindly tone. 

“I don’t know, sir,” answered the boy 
sadly, in a low voice. 

“Very well, then,” said the officer; 
“you’ll be as well off below and better 
than if you were on the streets all night. 
In that case you’d be sure to be arrested 
before morning for loitering. And if, as 
you say, you’re not guilty, to-morrow 
you’ll be none the worse. Only you’ll 
have to prove it, — that’s all; and I hope 
you’ll be able to do it.” 

“Come,” said Donovan, again taking 
the boy by the arm and leading him 
through the door. Once outside, he 
opened an immense iron gate at one 
side, through which they passed down 
an inclined plane, paved with cement, 


152 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

to the basement story. A long and 
dimly lighted ball opened before them, 
on either side of which, through iron 
gratings, men and women might be 
seen lying or sitting, in various stages 
of intoxication. At intervals one more 
sober than the rest would come closer 
to the iron bars to watch them as they 
passed. But Michael did not see them. 
With bowed head and downcast eyes, 
he walked beside the policeman, who 
paused at length at the very end of the 
line, after passing several empty cells on 
either hand. It was from a humane 
motive that he placed the boy as far as 
possible from the companionship of 
those poor outcasts of society, to whom 
this place was as near being home as 
any other upon earth. 

Opening the door of ‘^166” with the 
key he carried in his hand, he ushered 
his prisoner into a narrow cell, damp, 
dark, and without any furniture save a 
stone bench, scarcely distinguishable in 
the darkness. The policeman struck a 
match, which glimmered for an instant 
and then went out. But in that instant 
he had pointed out the bench to the 
trembling boy, saying: “Lie down there 


IN THE STATION-HOUSE. 


153 


and rest all you can. I’m sorry for you, 
my boy; and I hope you’ll be able to 
clear yourself in the morning.” Then, 
leaving the cell, he locked the door and 
went away. 

Mute and motionless, poor Michael 
stood in the darkness till the sound of 
his echoing footsteps had died away. 
Then a sudden, awful terror seized him; 
he ran to the grating, shook it frantic- 
ally, and wept aloud. But the only an- 
swer to his desolate weeping were the 
maudlin cries of his companions in mis- 
ery; their angry curses and ribald oaths, 
their vulgar songs and besotted laugh- 
ter, resounding through the dark, ill- 
smelling corridor. Terrified and despair- 
ing, the boy stood there, longing for the 
sight of one pitying human face, — the 
sound of one kindly human voice. 

Suddenly a woman appeared at the 
grating of a cell about five doors below 
his own, on the other side of the cor- 
ridor. She had once been beautiful. 
Her hair, long, luxuriant and glossy, 
hung unkempt about her shoulders; 
great staring black eyes peered out 
beneath straight heavy brows. Her 
face was the color of death. Shaking 


154 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

the iron bars violently with both hands, 
she eried in a loud, moeking voiee: 

“Go home little boy, — go home to 
your mother! She’s waiting for you. 
Go home to your mother, I say, little 
boy!” 

Trembling, the ehild shrunk baek into 
the darkness of his lonely eell, feeling 
with his hands along the wall until 
he eame to the stone beneh whieh was 
to be his bed. He did not attempt to 
lie down, but sat upon it, with his back 
well braced against the wall; for his 
feet were weary and sore, his head 
throbbing with pain. As he sat there 
in the thick darkness, it seemed to him 
that the place of eternal perdition could 
not be more horrible than this in which 
he was doomed to pass the night. 
Confident that he could not sleep, he 
put both hands to his ears in an en- 
deavor to shut out the dreadful noises 
outside. The fearful sounds continued, 
increasing as the night went on till 
after midnight, when they gradually 
died away. But long before that hour 
the boy had fallen asleep, with a prayer 
upon his lips. Slimy creatures crept out 
from their hiding-places in the damp 


In the station-house. 


155 


walls; but he did not see them, nor feel 
them if they touched him. Rats chased 
one another up and down the corridor, 
but Michael did not hear them. Calmly 
and blissfully he slept on, despite his 
cramped position and the growing chill 
of the night, until long after dawn 
essayed to peep feebly through the tiny 
window of the cell. Once more the stir 
of life began to be felt in all about him; 
the cannon sounded reveille from the 
island fortress. 

As the echoes died away in the dis- 
tance, the boy moved uneasily, stretched 
his cramped limbs; and, suddenly start- 
ing up, looked wildly about him. Sick, 
cold and hungry, weary with much 
walking and exhausted by much 
weeping, he buried his face in his hands; 
realizing all that was to come as well 
as all that had gone before, fully awake 
to the horrors of the fast-approaching 
day. It was then that he fell upon his 
knees on the damp, earthen floor, pray- 
ing aloud in his anguish to the Holy 
Mother of God and his own dead 
mother to help and protect him in the 
terrible ordeal confronting him, from 
which he knew there was no escape but 


156 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


through the mercy of a God in whom 
he believed, in whom he hoped with all 
the trust of his young heart, still faith- 
ful, still loving. 

And it was at this moment that the 
unfortunate woman in the cell across 
the corridor, awakened from a drunken 
sleep by the sound of his voice, came 
again to the grating; her long black 
hair still more dishevelled, her face more 
ghastly, her eyes softer and dimmer; 
while she listened to the boyish voice, 
hearing and understanding, compre- 
hending what it meant; till, the prayer 
over, and the boy quiet and composed 
again, she stole softly back to the dark- 
est corner of her cell, where the angels 
saw her weeping — and praying. 



XV. 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 

There were several persons unhappy 
on account of poor Michael that night. 
Lena Olsen had gone to bed in tears, 
almost angry with her mother, who, 
much as she desired to do so, could not 
feel the unbounded faith in the boy that 
her daughter felt and vehemently assert- 
ed. Little Gustave, too, was inconsol- 
able when he learned that his late friend 
and companion had departed, in the 
probable order of things, not again to 
return. He had already grown to love 
him, and to look upon him as an older 
brother. 

Strive as she would, in spite of his 
apparent ingratitude and hypocrisy, 
Mrs. Olsen herself fought long and 
wearily against the proofs of criminality 
which faced her on every side. Guilty 
though he surely was in her opinion, 
she pitied him with all her motherly 
heart. She lay awake far into the 

X57 


158 THE FOETUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

night, filled with solicitude for his 
present condition, but more than all for 
the dreadful future which seemed to 
stare him in the face. For she had not 
the slightest doubt but that he would 
be found and taken; and when taken, 
sent to the Reform Farm, — in her mind, 
and not unreasonably, but another step 
to the penitentiary and the gallows, 
on which, in fancy, she already saw 
dangling the ghastly form of a young 
man bearing, though brutalized, the 
outward semblance of the bright, cheer- 
ful, guileless boy she had known. In 
reality, the poor woman suffered far 
more than her daughter, who, con- 
vinced of his innocence, felt an equal 
confidence that time would soon de- 
velop proofs of it. 

Neither was the mind of Policeman 
Donovan in a peaceful or happy condi- 
tion on that eventful night. The slight 
excitement of Michael’s arrest had 
diverted his thoughts from the back- 
slidings of his own offspring, in whose 
company — or the vicinity of it, at least 
—he suddenly began to realize the guilty 
boy had been found. It was nothing 
unusual for him to arrest a boy, not 


AFTEK- THOUGHTS. 


159 


was he accustomed to feeling any ex- 
traordinary compassion for such young 
offenders as happened to come under his 
temporary charge. For if young in 
years, they were generally old in crime; 
on the one side, not receiving sympathy; 
on the other, neither expecting nor 
desiring it. But this boy had from the 
first seemed to him unlike other boys. 
He had liked him, been interested in 
him; and had often found himself com- 
paring him with his own sons, in a 
manner not at all favorable to the 
latter. And now he had found him to 
be no better, but much worse, than the 
redoubtable Paul and Peter; with the 
added painful knowledge, from which 
there was no escaping, that the party 
with whom he had consorted, and 
taken refuge in his flight from justice, 
was actually composed of his own 
sons and their unruly companions. 

As he walked rapidly onward, his 
mind became uneasy with a passing fear 
that perhaps the little fellow, though 
guilty, was not alone in his trangres- 
sion; that, if not active participants in 
the crime, Paul and Peter might have 
shared in the spoils, albeit unwittingly, 


160 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

—at least so he hoped, while he feared. 
As a vision of his own boys in a like 
position to that now occupied by 
Michael rose before his unwilling eyes, 
he began to feel a regret that he had 
been so hasty. He had not been de- 
tailed to look for the boy; there might 
have been extenuating circumstances. 
In any case, he was young, with the 
fresh rose of Ireland on his cheeks, and 
her soft, sweet accent on his tongue. 
He had been hard on him, he thought. 
He was sorry for it now. He wished he 
had not been in such a hurry to drag 
him “below, stairs.” 

His anxiety was not diminished when, 
on arriving home, he found his wife in 
a condition of nervous excitement. The 
boys had not returned; they had never 
remained out so late before; they had 
gone to the wharf; they had fallen into 
the water, and their dead bodies were 
even now in process of recovery. She 
knew it: she had heard cannon firing 
all the evening. Very soon they would 
both be brought home to her cold, 
dripping, — drowned beyond recovery. 
The anxiety of the father was of an- 
other kind; therefore he could afford to 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 


161 


ask, in a somewhat sarcastic tone: 

‘‘And how do you know, my good 
woman, that it is to the wharf they 
would be likely to go, unless they’ve 
been in the habit of going there nights 
when I thought them in their beds?” 

“Oh, listen to him!” she exclaimed, 
looking round at an imaginary audience 
— Neddie having gone to bed as soon as 
he returned. “What an unfatherly man 
— him that used to be such a kind one! 
’Tis being about the jails and jail-birds 
that’s hardening your heart, when you 
can talk like that about your own little 
boys, that you’d like to keep confined 
within the four walls of the house day 
and night, Sunday and holiday, and all 
times, as if they were criminals.” 

“ ’Tis within four gloomier walls, and 
thicker and higher than these, they’ll 
soon be, I’m thinking, if all’s as I fear,” 
replied the father, with a solemn shake 
of the head. “I’m just after taking the 
little greenhorn to the lock-up for the 
night. And — will you believe me? — ’twas 
in company with Paul and Peter and a 
few other young villains of the same 
stripe, that I found him. Didn’t Neddie 
tell you about it?” 


162 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

But his mention of the “little green- 
horn” passed unnoticed and uncompre- 
hended. She had no thought now for 
any one but her own truants. 

“Neddie told me nothing,” was the 
reply. “He couldn’t, for I didn’t give 
him a chance,— the rapscallion, spying 
and telling on his brothers! I gave him 
a sound whipping as soon as he put his 
foot inside the door. And, oh, but it’s 
I am the unhappy woman to-night, 
with no tidings of my little boys, and 
the sound of the cannon booming into 
my ears every blessed minute! What is 
it — oh, what is it, Pat, I say, but the 
sign of a drowned corpse?” With this 
she fell upon her husband’s neck, weep- 
ing bitterly. 

All his anger vanished at the sight. 
Soothing her gently he made her wrap 
herself up in a warm shawl, replenished 
the fire, and again went forth on a 
weary and fruitless quest for the truant 
boys — at that momeni hiding in the 
barn, not twenty feet distant, in mortal 
terror of his displeasure. 

With Mr. O’Donnell the time had not 
passed more pleasantly. No sooner had 
he lodged at the police station the in- 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 


163 


formation of the theft of the money 
and Michael’s disappearance, than the 
feeling of indignation against the cul- 
prit, mingled with elation at the dis- 
covery of his perfidy, suddenly col- 
lapsed; and, against what he persisted 
in calling his own better judgment, he 
began to experience doubts, not un- 
mixed with a feeling very nearly allied 
to remorse. After walking a few steps, 
he would pause and talk to himself in 
a fashion not uncommon with those 
who live much alone. 

“Michael O’Donnell,” he would say, 
“you were very quick to accuse the poor 
greenhorn of what you didnH know, 
let alone what you did.” 

“But I had already found out he was 
a rogue, in the morning; and the proofs 
were there — the window was open. 
Could anything be clearer?” 

“What if he wenf in for his little 
bundle, as you bade him? Maybe the 
boy forgot to close it, in his fear. A 
man ought to be reasonable.” 

“But the money was gone.” 

“Aren’t there many people in the 
house? And do you know the character 
of every mother’s son of them? And 


164 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


couldn’t some one have come from the 
street — a tramp in search of victuals, 
maybe, — and, seeing the window open, 
made away with the money?” 

“But the boy was a rogue and a 
disappointment, any way. Didn’t he 
take up with a hard crowd, and he pre- 
tending to be good and not up to their 
tricks?” 

“Maybe so; but, when all is said, you 
can’t deny that you didn’t give him a 
chance, nor the ghost of one. You fell 
on him like a thousand of brick, and 
that was the end of him.” 

“But he faced me, the little villain!” 

“He had pluck — you must own to it.” 

The old man sighed. Conscience had 
the last word, and his soul was uneasy 
— so uneasy that, instead of going 
directly home, his feet turned toward 
Father Ramon’s house, within whose 
doors he had never before entered. 
Why he did so he could not explain — 
unless he had a kind of forlorn hope 
that Michael had taken refuge there, 
and might be able to explain satisfac- 
torily what now appeared so ominously 
against his honesty. 

The priest was at home, and received 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 


165 


him graciously. When Mr. O’Donnell 
had told his story, very much more in 
favor of Michael than he would have 
done some hours previously, looking 
and feeling his sad disappointment that 
the boy had not come to the priest. 
Father Ramon said, with emphasis: 

“My dear sir, I fear you have made a 
great mistake. I believe that boy is 
innocent — entirely innocent — of the crime 
of which he is suspected. I was looking 
for him here to-night; now I see why he 
did not come. God only knows where 
he may be at this moment,— pobrecito, 
pobrecito! * And, guilty or innocent, 
a stain like that often clings to one for 
life.” 

Mr. O’Donnell was not accustomed 
to words of reproof, especially from one 
so much younger than himself as was 
Father Ramon. But he knew of his 
great charity and zeal; and, besides, had 
all an Irishman’s veneration for the 
sacred garb and that which it repre- 
sented. 

“It may be as you say. Father,” he 
answered, meekly. “If so, I shall do all 


* “Poor little fellow I 


166 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


I can to repair the wrong, if God puts 
it in my way to do so. But there is a 
great probability, after all, that I was 
right and that you are wrong.’’ 

“No, no! I can not believe it,” reiter- 
ated the priest, even more emphatically 
than before. “But I am glad you came 
to me; for I may be of assistance to the 
boy if he is found.” 

“He is likely to be arrested,” said the 
old man in a low voice. 

“I shall see that he gets a fair trial 
in that case,” answered the priest. 
“Good-night, sir!” he continued, as his 
visitor approached the door. “I shall 
watch the morning paper.” 

With slow and shuffling step the old 
man betook himself to his lonely abode, 
where he passed the night between fitful 
slumbers and troubled dreams; while 
the priest went back to his friend. 
Father Sebastiano, who was awaiting 
him in the dining-room. To him he 
related the story he had just heard, the 
other listening with an incredulous 
smile. 

“I fear your goose is not a swan this 
time either,” he remarked. 

“This time my swan is a swan,” said 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 


167 


Father Ramon, with decision. ^‘And 
not only that, but you shall hear him 
sing, not once, but many, many times. 
If he is all that I say, Sebastiano,” he 
continued, “will you take him at the 
Mount as I proposed?’^ 

“I will,” replied his friend; “and here 
is my hand upon it. But I fear, Father 
Ramon, — I fear.” 

“And I do not,” said the other. 

“Well, time will soon show,” was the 
response, as they parted for the night. 

Father Ramon was un vesting in the 
sacristy after Mass the next morning 
when the door opened slowly, and a 
fair-haired little girl made her appear- 
ance. It was Lena Olsen. 

“Father,” she said, in reponse to his 
kindly salutation, ‘ ‘I knocked twice, but 
you did not hear. I am Mrs. Olsen’s 
girl.” 

“Yes, I know,” answered the priest. 
“Is there any news of Michael?” 

“How did you know about him so 
soon. Father? I came to tell you.” 

“Mr. O’Donnell was here last even- 
ing,” said Father Ramon. “Is there 
any news this morning, my child?” 

“Oh, yes. Father!” sobbed Lena. “It 


168 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

is all in the paper. He was arrested 
last night, and they will have him 
before the police court this morning; 
and then it will be the Reform Farm for 
poor little Michael, if he has not some 
good friend to stand up for him.’’ 

^^Pobrecito! pohrecitoP^ said the 
kindly young priest, relapsing, as was 
his wont under stress of emotion, into 
the tender diminutives of his own 
tongue. 

“He did not do it. Father,” continued 
the little girl. “Not until I hear it from 
his own lips could I believe that he took 
the money. And my mother is in the 
greatest trouble. Last night she 
thought it was Michael that took the 
money, but she did not mean to have 
him arrested: she would have let him 
go. Mr. O’Donnell went so quick to 
complain at the police station, and now 
this morning my mother is so sorry 
that maybe through us the boy will go 
to prison, — and to prison he must go. 
Father, if he has no friend to take his 
part.” 

“Do not worry, my child,” said the 
priest; “and tell your mother not to be 
alarmed. He will have a good friend. 


AFTER-THOUGHTS. 


169 


and more than one, I promise. As soon 
as I have had a cup of coffee I will go at 
once to a very good lawyer — a friend 
of mine, — and all that can be done will 
be done for Michael. Now run home to 
your mother, and God bless you!” 

With a heart still sad, but greatly 
relieved by Father Ramon’s encouraging 
words, Lena sped homeward as fast 
as her feet could carry her. An hour 
later the priest, accompanied by a tall, 
well-dressed gentleman, was shown by 
the turnkey into cell “ 166 ,” where poor 
Michael sat on the stone bench which 
served alike for bed and table, a cup 
of some lukewarm, black liquid untasted 
before him, a bit of dry bread in his 
hand. As the door opened he glanced 
listlessly up; but when the visitors 
stepped forward he recognized the 
priest; and, starting to his feet with an 
exclamation of surprise, he turned 
away from them, hiding his tear-stained 
face against the wall. 


XVI. 

FRIENDS IN NEED. 

FatHer Ramon and his companion 
remained silent for a moment after 
entering the cell, then the priest laid 
his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. 

“Look at me, Michael,” he said, in a 
gentle and encouraging tone. “Turn 
your face this way, my child, and be 
neither afraid nor ashamed. We are 
friends.” 

Slowly and timidly Michael shifted 
his position; gradually bringing his face 
to a level with that of the priest, who 
was bending over him. A few rays of 
light struggling through the window 
high up in the wall revealed the pallor 
and distress of his countenance. Seldom 
had the young priest been so touched 
and grieved as he was at the pathetic 
sight. The boy tried to speak, but 
could not: his lips trembled, his throat 
swelled and contracted with a dioking 
sound. But his eyes brightened as he 

17 « 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


171 


looked gratefully up into the two sj^m- 
pathetic faces. Poor little fellow! he no 
longer felt entirely desolate — forsaken of 
God and man. 

“ Don’t trouble yourself to speak, my 
boy, until you are more composed,” 
said Father Ramon’s companion. “Col- 
lect your thoughts a little. I must ask 
you some questions, but I shall not be 
hard on you.” 

“This gentleman is a lawyer,” said 
the priest. “He will do all for you that 
can be done. Take courage. I hope we 
shall soon have you out of here.” 

With a heroic effort, Michael straight- 
ened himself and got on his feet, stretch- 
ing his cold and stiffened limbs with a 
deep and long-drawn sigh. The action 
relieved him; the blood began to course 
more swiftly through his veins, some- 
thing like the ghost of a smile hovered 
about his lips. Timidly reaching forth 
his hand, he touched that of Father 
Ramon. The next instant he found it 
warmly grasped, the priest drawing 
him nearer. 

“That is a brave boy,” he said. 
“Trust in God, Michael, and all will 
soon be well with you.” 


172 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


^^0 Father,’’ replied the boy, “if I 
hadn’t done that last night, I wouldn’t 
be alive this day. Sure you don’t think 
I did it. Father? How eould any of 
them think I’d be guilty of sueh a 
crime?” 

“Not for a moment, ’’said the priest, — 
“not for a single moment.” 

“And how did you hear it. Father?” 
inquired Miehael. 

“Mr. O’Donnell came to the house 
late last evening to see if you were 
there. From what I eould gather, he 
had dismissed you hastily, and was 
anxious to see you again, with a view 
to taking you back, when he learned 
that some money had been stolen from 
Mrs. Olsen. Then, appearances were 
against you, Miehael. The kitehen 
window was found open and the money 
gone.” 

“ ’Twas I opened the window. Father,” 
said the boy, simply. “I couldn’t have 
got in unless I had, and I wanted to be 
away when they eame home.” 

“Why?” asked the gentleman, at the 
same time gently pushing the boy to a 
seat on the stone bench and sitting 
down beside him. 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


173 


“They had been so good to me, sir — 
Mrs. Olsen and Lena, — and the little 
one was so engaging entirely, that I 
couldn’t bear to say good-bye to them. 
I thought no harm in opening the 
window. Maybe I shouldn’t have done 
it; but everything came of a sudden on 
me; and I hadn’t my right wits about 
me, I suppose.” 

“What I meant to ask was why you 
wished to leave your boarding place at 
all. It would seem to me that, in your 
peculiar position — a stranger in the city, 
as Father Ramon tells me, and just 
ousted from your situation, — you would 
have been desirous of remaining where 
you were until you could find something 
else to do.” 

“Sure I couldn’t help it, sir,” said the 
boy. “Mr. O’Donnell told me the very 
last thing when he turned me off to go 
straight to Mrs. Olsen’s and get my 
clothes and be off; for he said she 
wouldn’t want the likes of me about.” 

‘ ‘ Had you had any difficulty with her 
at all?” 

“With izer is it, sir? Not the least in 
the world. It’s queer, but that’s what 
Mr. O’Donnell asked me too, sir,— why 


174 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


I can’t think; for she was the kindest 
woman, and I always told him so. But 
he got it into his head somehow that 
I’d been bold to her, and he wouldn’t 
let me tell him a word about it.” 

“Why, then, I repeat, were you in 
such a hurry to leave your good friend 
when you had no place to go?” 

“Sure I told you, sir,” said the bo3r, 
“that Mr. O’Donnell bade me do it. I 
didn’t want to be bringing any trouble 
on the good people that sheltered me.” 

“And how could you have brought 
trouble on them in that way?” 

“I was in dread he might turn them 
out if I stopped on there. He told me 
she wouldn’t keep me, sir.” 

“H’m! Landlords have no such ex- 
treme rights in this country, Michael. 
You are not in Ireland now. Mr. 
O’Donnell spoke a little wildly when he 
ordered you to leave your lodging- 
place. Doubtless he did it in a moment 
of vexation and repented later. It is a 
pity you took him at his w'ord, my 
boy.” 

“I thought of nothing else, sir,” said 
Michael. “I’m new to the ways of the 
country, And as for the window, as I 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


175 


told you before, I ought to have closed 
it, I know; but I hardly knew what I 
was doing at all.” 

Some further questioning on the part 
of Mr. van Rossum drew forth the story 
of Michael’s wanderings, his meeting 
with the boys, and his arrest. The 
lawyer then asked Father Ramon to 
come into the corridor for a moment, 
where he expressed his firm belief in the 
boy’s innocence. Father Ramon was 
very much pleased. Mr. van Rossum 
next asked the priest if he would be 
willing to go on Michael’s bond, as he 
wished to get bail for him at once; thus 
preventing the necessity of his appear- 
ance in the police court, which would 
soon be in session. He wished to spare 
the poor child this mortification, hoping 
that before the day which the judge 
should appoint for the trial came round, 
he might be able to establish his inno- 
cence, or at least secure witnesses in his 
favor. The priest at once acquiesced, 
and the lawyer departed with a brisk 
step in order to secure another bonds- 
man. Father Ramon then returned to 
Michael with the comforting assurance 
that in a little while he would be 


176 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


released; at the same time informing 
him that, though he might eventnally 
have to stand trial, there could be no 
reasonable doubt but that he would be 
cleared of the charge. 

Ten minutes had hardly elapsed before 
Mr. van Rossum returned, followed by 
an old gentleman with snowy hair and 
beard, wearing a peculiar sort of cloak 
which streamed out behind him as he 
walked. 

‘‘Good news. Father!” exclaimed the 
young man. “ I met my father in front 
of the police office just as I went out. 
He will gladly go on the bond with 
you. — Here is the boy,” he continued, as 
the old gentleman entered the cell. 

Michael stood up and made a respect- 
ful bow, the pallor of his cheek flushing 
to deep crimson as the newcomer, 
taking his hand, scrutinized him closely, 
yet with a kindly smile. Presently he 
turned to his son, saying in German : 

“You are right, Ferdinand: this boy 
is no thief. Whenever the Father is 
ready, I am willing to go upstairs and 
settle this business.” To Michael he 
said cheerfully: “Now keep a strong 
heart, my son, and God will take care 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


177 


of you. He never deserts those who 
trust in Him. You are called — what?” 

“Michael O’Donnell, sir,” was the 
reply. 

“Ah! Well, now that is good. You 
have the most valiant of archangels for 
your name-saint. He will see you out 
of this scrape, I assure you, if you have 
confidence in him. You pray to him 
sometimes, eh?” 

“Not often,” the boy answered, look- 
ing frankly up into the face of the old 
man. “I’ll do it, though, after this, sir. 
But I’m very fond of St. Joseph; and I 
thought ’twas himself coming in when I 
saw you first, you’re so like the pictures 
of him.” 

“Well, now, hear that!” said the old 
gentleman, laughing merrily. “ It takes 
an Irishman to make a compliment, 
doesn’t it ? What will you think if I tell 
you my name is J oseph. What wiU you 
think of that, sir?” 

“ That you were very well named, sir, 
thanks be to God I ” rejoined the boy. 

“The good Saint sent me here, no 
doubt,” said the old gentleman, with a 
bright smile, in a tone which evidenced 
that he meant what he said. Once more 


178 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


pressing Michael’s hand, he joined his 
son and the priest, who were talking in 
a low voice near the door of the cell. 
Father Ramon went back to Michael 
for a moment, saying: 

“We are going upstairs, my boy, to 
arrange matters; but we shall return 
shortly, — that is, I shall. Be ready to 
go when I come back.” 

“Oh, will they let me, do you think, 
Father?” he asked, doubtfully. 

“Certainly, they will,” replied the 
priest. 

Hastily joining the others, who were 
already in the corridor, he went on his 
errand of charity. The self-locking door 
closed after him with a loud clang. 

Michael had barely time to collect his 
thoughts before the priest’s step was 
heard on the pavement, accompanied by 
the turnkey, who unlocked the grating. 
Father Ramon entered jubilantly. 

“Come now, little Michael,” he said, 
seizing the boy by the hand and lifting 
him to his feet. “I hope you have 
everything packed. The carriage is 
waiting to take us home, and we will 
find a good breakfast at the end of our 
journey.” 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


179 


‘*0h, is it true, Father?’’ answered the 
boy. “Am I really to be let out?” 

“Yes, yes,” replied the priest. “You 
are coming with me now — at this 
moment — to my house. That good old 
Mr. van Rossum— who is a saint, I 
assure you, Michael, — hailed a cab as he 
went away. He thought it would be 
easier for you; you don’t look your best 
this morning. And now where is the 
bundle? I thought you told me there 
was one?” 

“I had a small one yesterday. Father,” 
said Michael. “My little things were 
tied up in a big blue handkerchief I had 
with me from the old country. I carried 
it all yesterday afternoon, and I had it 
last night when — when — Mr. Donovan 
found me; but I don’t remember what 
happened to it after that.” 

“Well, never mind,” remarked the 
kind priest. “We can arrange for your 
needs later; perhaps the bundle may be 
found. The thing now is to get out of 
this place as soon as possible. You look 
as if you were about to faint; and I feel 
as though I should, the air is so foul 
and unwholesome.” 

Backward swung the iron door again, 


180 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

as they passed out of the noisome place 
where Michael had spent one long and 
dreary night, which he must remember 
all his life. Not once did he glance into 
the cells on either side, though the 
inmates pressed nearer the gratings to 
watch them as they hurried along. In 
the darkest corner of one a tired woman 
slept the heavy, unrefreshing sleep of 
exhaustion and despair. 

Clinging closely to Father Ramon, 
Michael breathed a sigh of relief and 
thankfulness as they walked rapidly up 
the steep incline which led from the 
precincts of the station-house to the 
street. Ah, how welcome the daylight! 
How delightful the pure, fresh air! Was 
anything ever so lovely as that golden 
sunlight, that blue, unclouded sky ? 
Almost before he knew it, he was sitting 
beside Father Ramon in the cab, driving 
swiftly away from the scene of last 
night’s terrible experience. 

As they turned the corner, the priest 
touched Michael’s hand pointing to a 
group advancing from the opposite 
street. The boy shrank back; he could 
not bear that they should see him now, 
in the sorry plight in which he felt 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


181 


himself to be. First came Mr. O’Don- 
nell and Mrs. Olsen, walking side by 
side in earnest conversation. Behind 
them walked Lena and her little 
brother. 

“Where do yon think they are going, 
Father?” inquired Michael, innocently. 

The priest looked absently out of the 
cab window, pretending not to hear. 
He could not find it in his heart to tell 
the boy what evidently he did not 
suspect — that they were on their way 
to the police court, where, if it had not 
been for his own timely interference, 
Michael would that morning have been 
most unjustly arraigned for larceny. 

The ride was short. Father Ramon 
conducted the boy to the parlor, where 
he left him a moment, while he went to 
consult with the kindly old Spanish- 
woman who served him in the capacity 
of housekeeper. He soon returned, 
with some articles of underclothing on 
his arm. 

“Come, Michael,” he said, leading the 
way. “After the foul atmospheric bath 
of last night and this morning, you need 
one in clean, cold water. I will show 
you the bath-room. My good Nativ- 


182 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

idad always has a stock of clothing on 
hand, which is given her by kind friends 
for the poor children. She has found 
me some for you, -which I think will fit. 
They may be a little large, but that is 
better than if they were too small. And 
a pair of stockings, too, she has given 
me. Put them on, and yours will be 
washed later. When you have bathed 
you will feel like a new boy. And then 
for some breakfast. Here you are!” he 
continued, opening the door of the bath- 
room. “There is soap and here are 
towels. Now let me see how long it 
will take you to give yourself a good 
scrubbing.” 

Fifteen minutes later Michael re- 
entered the parlor, his face shining, his 
hair curling in damp little rings about 
his forehead; looking almost like his old 
cheerful self, save for a slight pallor and 
a wistful, saddened look in his clear, 
honest eyes. Then the brown, wrinkled 
face of Natividad appeared in the door- 
way; and the next moment Miehael 
found himself sitting at the table in 
front of an appetizing omelet, a couple 
of crisp, fresh rolls on his plate, and a 
huge bowl of coffee beside it. 


FRIENDS IN NEED. 


183 


“Eat, drink!” said tlie housekeeper, 
pointing to the viands. 

“Eat, drink, my child,” echoed the 
priest, smilingly; ‘‘and afterward you 
will lie down, for you need rest. Then 
when you have slept a little we will 
talk. Mr. van Rossum comes this even- 
ing; we have work to do, my little 
Michael, and you must help us all you 
can.” 

Contrary to the generally approved 
rule in story-books, Michael was not 
unable to swallow a morsel, nor did the 
coffee choke him. He did ample justice 
to the fare set before him, the kind 
priest looking on with great satisfac- 
tion. When he had finished. Father 
Ramon pointed to another door leading 
from the dining-room. 

“Go in there, Michael, and lie down,” 
he said. “That is my room. At the 
foot of the bed there is a couch, where 
you can rest comfortably. I must go 
out again for a little while. No one will 
disturb you till I return.” 

Looking his earnest thanks, the boy 
obeyed silently, softly closing the door 
behind him. The priest returned to the 
parlor, wrote a note at the desk in the 


184 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


corner, and took his hat preparatory to 
going out. The flapping of a window- 
curtain arrested his footsteps. Turning, 
he sought his own room by a door 
whieh opened into the outer hall. The 
windows were wide open to the morn- 
ing sun, whieh poured its full radianee 
into the apartment. Kneeling by the 
eoueh, his head buried in his hands, was 
Miehael, fast asleep. “Pobrec/to.^” mur- 
mured the priest. “He would have said 
his prayers.’’ Gently lifting the boy, 
he plaeed him on the eoueh, without 
waking him. Then he noiselessly elosed 
the shutters and lowered the eurtains; 
and taking a eoverlet from the foot 
of the bed, laid it softly over him. 



XVII. 

AN INQUISITION. 

At half- past ten Mr. Donovan re- 
turned from a fruitless search for his 
boys, with the hope that he would find 
them in bed, from which he purposed to 
drag them at once for corporal punish- 
ment. When he entered the house all 
was dark; the poor mother had fallen 
asleep in front of the fire, now almost 
distinguished. The lamp was out; evi- 
dently she had intended going upstairs, 
but had changed her mind, after having 
removed her apron and shoes, which lay 
on the floor at her feet. Her husband 
looked at her with compassion before 
going noiselessly upstairs, where he 
found Neddie fast asleep. The other 
bed, in which Paul and Peter slept, 
was empty. 

He stood for a moment uncertain 
what to do, a wild fear taking posses- 
sion of his heart. Could it be possible 
that, fearful of the punishment which 

185 


186 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

they must have apprehended and which 
they knew they richly deserved, they 
had gone down to the big Australian 
ship and joined the crew as apprentices? 
He could think of nothing more likely; 
it was beyond reason that otherwise 
they would have remained out until this 
hour. The poor man was not aware 
that eleven o’clock often found them 
skulking along the street toward home. 
As he stood reflecting, the dog barked 
in the yard; he went over to the win- 
dow and looked out. The back of the 
bam was toward him. Through the 
cracks he saw a sudden light like the 
flash of a match, followed by another 
and another. At once he divined that 
the culprits had taken refuge there, and 
were afraid to enter the house. In two 
minutes he had seized a candle from the 
table and was confronting them where 
they sat, huddled together on a pile of 
hay, near the stall where the cow lay 
comfortably at rest. 

“And what do you mean by this, you 
rascals?” he exclaimed. “Wasn’t it bad 
enough for you to be where I found 
you to-night, with a lot of vagabonds 
in Dobell’s Canon, let alone to come 


AN INQUISITION. 


187 


home and hide in the barn like a couple 
of thieves? What can be the meaning 
of all this, I say?” 

“We were afraid, father,” whimpered 
Paul; “we were in dread you’d beat us.” 

“Of course I’ll beat you, though not 
to-night,” replied the policeman. “Had 
I caught you an hour ago, I’d have 
shown you no favor; but my anger’s 
not so hot as it was then. It will keep 
till the morning, and then you may 
look out. I’ll not wake your poor 
mother now, nor the neighbors; but 
to-morrow— just wait till to-morrow!” 

Giving each of them a euff on the ear, 
he pushed them out of the bam, locked 
the door, and bade them go silently to 
bed. They obeyed with alacrity, taking 
off their shoes on the threshold of the 
kitchen door and stealing like mice up 
the stairs. After they had gone, the 
policeman woke his wife, who, on learn- 
ing how leniently he had treated the 
offenders, began to upbraid him for not 
having punished them. But when he 
told her that the reward was awaiting 
them on the morrow, she began to 
plead for them, saying that the night’s 
work would certainly be a lesson to 


188 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


them without further punishment. He 
did not agree with her, nor intend to 
abide by her advice in the matter; but 
did not wish to contradict her, thinking 
silence golden under the circumstances, 
particularly at that time of the night. 

He was astir at five in the morning, 
and had called the two boys long before 
their mother was awake. When they 
came down, he had lighted the fire and 
the coffee was already boiling. 

*‘Sit there, ’’ he commanded, pointing 
to two chairs he had placed in front of 
the judicial rocking-chair in which he 
had seated himself. “Sit there and give 
an account of yourselves — but what’s 
that jingling in your pocket, Peter?” 
he asked suddenly, turning to the elder 
boy, who had his hand in his trousers’ 
pocket. 

The boy did not answer, but looked 
helplessly at his brother. 

“What’s that in your pocket, I ask?” 
repeated the policeman, in a tone so 
loud that his wife, in the room above, 
sprang out of bed in a hurry and began 
to dress herself as quickly as pos- 
sible, in order that the slaughter of the 
innocents might not be accomplished 


AN INQUISITION. 


189 


beyond intervention before she could 
reach and shelter them under her 
motherly wings. 

“It’s money,” replied Peter at last, in 
a very low voice. 

“And where did you get it?” 

The boy remained silent. 

“Did you steal it?” shouted the police- 
man, jumping up and seizing him by the 
shoulder. 

“Tell him, Peter,” pleaded Paul. “Tell 
him you didn’t steal it.” 

“I promised I wouldn’t,” said the 
boy, with an appealing glance at his 
father. 

“Did you steal it, I ask?” persisted 
Mr. Donovan, trying to insert his hand 
in the boy’s pocket, which he was now 
endeavoring to hold tightly together. 
Giving him a brisk slap, he compelled 
him to release his hold; whereupon, 
inserting his hand, he drew forth a little 
paper sack containing eight silver 
dollars. 

“Where did you get this? Tell me this 
minute!” cried the policeman, shaking 
him vigorously by both shoulders. 
“Tell me, I say, or I’ll break every bone 
in your worthless body!” 


190 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


^^Father! father!” cried his wife, at 
this moment opening the door at the 
foot of the stairs and appearing on the 
scene, with her wrapper half buttoned 
and hair unkempt. “Don’t frighten 
the child to death, or you’ll never get 
a word out of him.” Then, catching 
sight of the money, which her husband 
in his wrath had thrown to the ground, 
she flew over to the culprit. “Is it a 
thief you are?” she cried. “Do you tell 
me you stole that money? No, no, 
father!” she continued, turning to her 
husband excitedly. “’Twas the other 
fellow gave it to him to keep, for fear 
’twould be found on himself.” 

“Did Michael O’Donnell give you that 
money?” asked the policeman. 

“No, sir, he didn’t,” replied the boy, 
promptly. “He never saw it; he wasn’t 
there (above half an hour. Why should 
he give it to me?” 

“Don’t you know I lodged him in the 
station-house last night for taking ten 
dollars from the Widow Olsen? Don’t 
lie to me. Tell me what you know, and 
whether you got it from him.” 

“Father, he didn’t!” said Paul, look- 
ing at his brother, “Fete crossed his 


AN INQUISITION. 


191 


heart he wouldn’t tell where he got it, 
but I believe it will be better for him 
if he does. And I don’t believe Mike 
stole no money; it was some one else. 
Can’t you see it yourself, Pete? Make 
a clean breast of it to father; if you 
don’t /will.” 

‘‘Do, in the name of God, honey!” 
pleaded the mother. “Sure you’ll 
forgive him the rest this time if he does; 
won’t you, father?” 

“I’ll not promise,” replied her hus- 
band, grimly. “But I certainly shan’t 
punish him for what he didn’t do.” 

“’Twas Reggie Curtin gave it to 
me,” said the boy, thus pressed on 
every side. 

“And where did he get it?” persisted 
his father. 

“I don’t know,” replied Peter. 

“Can’t you tell him all about it?” 
exclaimed Paul. “Say, what’s the use 
of makin’ him dig it out of you like 
that? li you don’t, / will.” 

“Do, then,” said Mrs. Donovan, en- 
couragingly. “Tell your father all 
about it, Paul, like a good boy!” 

“Well — yes, Paul, you may tell,” said 
his brother. “I am willing.” 


192 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


Then, nothing loath, Paul braced up 
and began his recital. 

“We didn’t mean any harm by goin’ 
to Dobell’s Canon. We only wanted to 
have some fun — ” he began, apologeti- 
cally. 

“But that’s not what I’m asking you, 
sir,” interrupted the policeman, sharply. 
“I’ll settle that with you later. What 
I want to know now, and that in 
double-quick time, is where you got 
that money.” 

“That’s what I was tryin’ to tell 
you,” resumed Paul, with a slight 
tremor in his voice. “When we run 
away from there, ’cause we saw you 
and Neddie cornin’, we didn’t know you 
was lookin’ for Michael.” 

“Neither was I,” said the policeman: 
“I was looking for you and Peter. I 
came upon him by accident. But it was 
all right, as he was wanted.” 

“ He told us old man O’Donnell turned 
him off that day,” said Peter. “ He said 
he didn’t know where he was a-goin’ or 
nothin’.” 

“Well, well, go on!” said his father, 
impatiently. 

“ Me and Peter come right on home,” 


AN INQUISITION. 


193 


continued Paul. “When we got here 
we seen you in the kitchen talkin’ to 
mother, and we couldn’t think why you 
was off duty at night. Then Pete he 
said he guessed the new rule changin’ 
the men was up last night, and we 
thought we’d hide in the barn till you’d 
gone to bed or either gone out. You 
did go out again — ” 

“Yes, looking for you two rascals 
down about the wharves,” said the 
policeman, “when I ought to be in my 
bed.” 

“Arrah, don’t put the child out that 
way, father!” said Mrs. Donovan. 
“Let him finish his story. Now, Paul 
honey, what happened after that?” 

“We was just makin’ up our minds to 
come out of the bam,” said Paul, “when 
we seen the door open and Reggie Curtin 
come a sneakin’ in.” 

“How did he know you were there?” 
inquired Mr. Donovan. 

“We told him we were goin’ to hide 
there?” answered Peter. 

“ Did you ask him to come, too?” 

“No,” said Paul. “We knew he 
didn’t need to be afraid of nothin’ or 
nobody. His mother she’s gone visitin’ 


194 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


to the country; and his father he’s drunk 
every single night, lying on the floor or 
somewheres; so he didn’t need to care.” 

“Ah, I see! A fine companion, that!” in- 
terjected the policeman. “Go on, goon!” 

“Let’s see — where was I at!” said the 
boy. “Oh, yes! when he come into the 
bam, he felt along till he come up to us, 
and he says: ^Boys, I’ve been home, 
and my father he’s just drunk enough 
to be meddlesome; he’s just drunk 
enough to want another dime, and I’m 
afraid he’ll be wantin’ to go through my 
pockets for it.’ Me and Peter laughed. 
‘What if he does?’ I says. ‘He won’t 
find much in them.’ — ‘That’s the 
trouble,’ says he. ‘My mother she 
gave me ten dollars to get changed 
yesterday ’fore she went away; but I 
couldn’t get back fast enough, and she 
had to go off in the train. I was goin’ 
to send it to her to-morrow,’ he says; 
‘but if my dad gets a-hold of it, all is up 
with me. He’ll take it from me sure. 
And it’s all my mother’s got in the 
world.’ Says Pete: ‘What you want 
to do?’ Says Reggie: ‘I want for you 
boys to keep it till I ask for it, and cross 
your hearts not to tell.’ ” 


AN INQUISITION. 


195 


“So I crossed my Heart three times,” 
said Peter. 

“ I didn^t cross mine at all— not once,” 
said Paul, emphatically. “I didn’t 
believe what he was a-sayin’, and you 
know I says: ‘Reggie Curtin, that’s 
some of the money you bought them 
things to eat with to-night. How you 
goin’ to pay it back?’ ” 

“Yes,” said Peter. “And Reggie says: 
‘I’m goin’ to drive wagon for Bromley 
the rest of this week.’ Didn’t he?” 

“That’s what he says,” replied Paul. 
“He just stuck the bag into Pete’s 
hand, and he says: ‘You fellers’ll hear 
some surprisin’ news in the momin’. 
Some one won’t be such a pet any 
longer.’ I guess he meant Michael.” 

“Probably he did,” said the police- 
man, reflectively, stooping to pick up 
the money, which he placed, bag and 
aU, in his pocket. “Was he around 
with the boy — with the greenhorn — at 
all during the day?” 

“He was round at old man O’Don- 
nell’s off and on all the week,” said 
Peter. “He told us he seen him goin’ 
away from there in the momin’, though 
he didn’t know he was leavin’.” 


196 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Maybe tbey stole the money to- 
gether,” said Mrs. Donovan. “Michael 
may have given it to him to keep.” 

“No, siree, that’s not the way!” said 
Paul, in a tone of conviction. “Curtin 
is such a blab that he’d surely have told 
the fellers if he’d a-known Michael was 
turned off.” 

“Unless he stoled the money hisself,” 
said a small voice, which came from a 
shrewd-eyed, thin-lipped, hatchet-faced 
little fellow in the comer — none other 
than the ubiquitous Neddie, who had 
followed his mother down the stairs. 
“Then he’d pretend he didn’t know 
nothin’ about it. Father said Michael 
took the money and went off, and left 
the window open. I bet ’twas Curtin 
done it.” 

“Did you ever know him to steal?” 
asked the policeman. 

“Wunst he took some money out of 
the collection box, and the fellers said 
they’d tell. They made him put it 
back,” continued the young hopeful. 
“You don’t need to look at me that 
a-way, Pete. You know it’s the truth 
I’m a-tellin’.” 

Peter regarded his brother with ven- 


AN INQUISITION. 


19? 


geance in liis eye. His mental attitude 
did not escape his father. 

^^’Twould be better for you, Peter 
and Paul,” he said, ‘^if you were more 
like Neddie than you are. Then you 
wouldn’t be learning to lie and deceive, 
and be preparing a way for yourselves 
to the gallows.” 

The two older boys looked at each 
other, but did not try to undeceive their 
father as to the moral status of Neddie. 
They had all they could do to take care 
of themselves for the time being. 

“Yes, sir, it’s true what he says,” 
Peter replied, waiving his father’s 
remarks. 

The clock struck six. 

“ I have just time to eat my breakfast 
and be off,” said the policeman. 
“ Mother, give me a cup of coffee — quick! 
I’ll settle the rest of this business to- 
night. Do you go to school; and have 
nothing to say to Reggie Curtin this 
day, or it will be the worse for you.” 

“There’s no school this week, father,” 
answered Paul. 

“Well, then, you may whitewash the 
kitchen, as your mother was wanting 
you to do Saturday. And don’t dare 


198 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


to leave this house on any pretext 
whatever — ” 

‘‘Sure you’ll forgive them this time?” 
interposed Mrs. Donovan, as she busied 
herself about the breakfast. 

“Never you mind, mother,” was the 
reply. “They’ll not be the worse for 
what I’ll do to them. I’m in hopes 
they’ll be glad to turn over a new leaf 
when I get through with them.” 

With this sword of Damocles hanging 
over their heads, the boys sat down to 
breakfast; their mother silently compas- 
sionating them, while their father cast 
at them occasional stern and angry 
glances from under his close-meeting, 
bushy brows. After he had gone they 
sat about the task allotted ' them with 
an ardor long unknown in the house- 
hold; and so pleased was their mother 
with the new disposition manifested by 
them that she consented to cook their 
favorite dinner — a pig’s cheek with 
potatoes and cabbage, and apple-dump- 
lings for dessert. But even the delicious 
fare set before them and unusual indul- 
gence of their mother, could not quite 
dispel their anxiety as to what would 
be done on their father’s return. 


XVIII. 

REGGIE Curtin’s secret. 

Being almost sure that Reggie Curtin 
was the real culprit, Mr. Donovan went 
forth early that morning with a definite 
purpose in his mind. He was deter- 
mined, if possible, to fasten the guilt on 
the offender, to whom he hoped and 
intended should also be meted out the 
punishment of the crime. But as he 
walked toward the station-house it 
became clear to him, while he reflected, 
that it would be difficult to inculpate 
one of “the gang” without bringing in 
the rest. Hereupon the feelings of the 
father conquered those of the guardian 
of the law, and he set about devising 
some means to exonerate Michael if he 
were innocent, without having to resort 
to the extreme measures of bringing the 
thief to justice. After donning his uni- 
form and attending to some necessary 
details of business, he was about to 
visit Michael’s cell, when he heard that 

199 


200 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


arrangements were in progress for his 
release on bail. This information sim- 
plified matters for him, as he would 
now have time to investigate further. 

When the policeman had begun his 
rounds, which led him into the neigh- 
borhood where young Curtin resided, he 
kept a sharp look-out for the boy; and 
at length, about ten o’clock, he was 
rewarded by seeing him standing in 
front of a grocer’s window. He tapped 
him on the shoulder. The boy looked 
around; and seeing the policeman, his 
face turned a greenish white. 

“What you want?” he inquired. “I 
ain’t done nothin’.” 

“Who said you had?” returned Mr. 
Donovan. “Why are you not at school 
this morning ? ” 

“There ain’t none,” was the response. 
“ Did your fellers tell you we had ? You 
can’t do no truant business on me this 
week, any way.” 

“ My boys are at home whitewashing 
the kitchen for their mother.” 

“ First time I knew ’em to be so indus- 
trious,” said Curtin. “Pete he prom- 
ised to meet me at Funk’s comer at 
nine this momin’, but he didn’t come.” 


feEGGiis Curtin’s secret. 


201 


Well, I’ll take his place as well as I 
2an for a while,” answered Mr. Dono- 
van, good-naturedly enough. “Suppose 
we take a little walk together, as I 
have to keep moving? ” 

“Folks’ll think you’re arrestin’ me,” 
said the boy, doggedly. 

“No, they won’t,” replied the police- 
man. “I just want to ask you a few 
questions. Come along. You needn’t 
be afraid what people may think, if you 
haven’t done anything out of the 
way.” 

“What you drivin’ at, sir? What 
you suppose I done?” he asked, 
anxiously; suddenly beginning to sus- 
pect that Pete had been led by promise 
of reward or fear of punishment to 
betray the trust he had reposed in 
him. 

“Come on,” replied the policeman; 
“and I’ll tell you what I’m driving at.” 

Having no alternative, the boy 
walked slowly away from the window ; 
keeping as far from his companion as 
he dared, yet near enough to enable 
them to converse without being heard 
by the passers-by. 

“I hear you were seen hanging 


202 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


round old O’Donnell’s place the last 
couple of days,” began Mr. Donovan. 
“What was your business there ? ” 

“I was jest a-waitin’ to see Michael,” 
was the reply. 

“And what did you want with him? ” 

“Nothin’ much. I jest thought — I 
jest thought — ” 

“Who sent you there?” inquired the 
policeman at random, not knowing 
how else to get at the bottom of the 
affair. 

But I Curtin, apprehending from this 
question that his interlocutor was al- 
ready aware of the movements and 
intentions of “the gang,” which infor- 
mation he had probably obtained from 
his own sons at the end of a strap, 
thought it best not to dissemble any 
longer. 

“Why, Pete he wanted to lick the 
greenhorn. He jest came in here a 
couple of weeks ago, and he was a-get- 
tin’ ahead of us fellers ; so he told me to 
coax him out and we’d squelch him. He 
wanted to teach him his place, Pete 
did.” 

“Do you mean Peter Donovan — my 
boy?” asked the policeman. 


REGGIE Curtin’s secret. 


208 


^^No, I don’t mean him,” said Curtin. 
“I was a-talkin’ of Pete Bundy. He’s 
the cap’n of our crowd.” 

“Oh, I see!” replied Donovan. “So 
my boys belong to that crowd, do 
they?” 

Curtin did not answer. He felt that 
he had already gone too far in his dis- 
closure. It was evident that the police- 
man did not know as much as the boy 
had supposed. 

“Kin I go back now?” asked Curtin, 
looking timidly up at the policeman. 

“Have you any particular business 
on hand?” asked Mr. Donovan, care- 
lessly. 

“No,” said the boy. “But if you 
didn’t want me for nothin’, I jest 
thought I’d go down street.” 

“ Did you know that young O’Donnell 
had been arrested for stealing?” 

“I heard some fellers talkin’ about it 
last night,” answered Curtin. 

“ What fellows?” 

“They was hangin’ round the station- 
house. They seen him.” 

“ Did you hear what he had stolen?” 

“Somethin’ from that Mrs. Olsen he 
used to stay with,” was the reply. 


204 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


^‘I’m afraid you’ve given yourself 
away, lad,” said the policeman. “There 
wasn’t a soul but the sergeant and 
myself knew what that little fellow was 
brought in for. There’s a lie somewhere. 
Either you didn’t hear the news from 
any one, or if you did you guessed at 
the charge; and you couldn’t have done 
that unless you’d known something of 
it before.” 

They had reached a point in their 
walk in front of a grocer’s, who was a 
friend of the policeman. 

“Come in here,” he said. 

The boy followed him very meekly, 
anticipating he knew not what. 

“Is there any one inside in the little 
room, Jimmy?” inquired the policeman 
of his friend, who was standing behind 
the counter, waiting on a customer. 

“There’s no one,” replied the other. 

Followed by Curtin, the policeman 
went into a small offset at the end of 
the shop, and closed the door. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked, 
without further preface, taking from his 
pocket the paper bag in which the eight 
silver dollars lay concealed. 

Curtin’s nether lip trembled as he said: 


REGGIE Curtin’s secret. 


205 


“I had ten dollars changed.’^ 

“Here now, Curtin, don’t think to 
impose on me with a lie like that you 
stuffed the boys with last night.” Then, 
as if seized by a sudden suspicion, he 
added: “Do my boys know where you 
got it?” 

“No,” said Curtin. “They don’t 
know only what I told them.” 

“Did you get it at Mrs. Olsen’s? Did 
you climb in the window and break 
open her bureau drawer?” 

“I didn’t break open no drawer,” was 
the surly response. “It was open — any 
way it wasn’t locked.” 

“And how came you there at all? 
Were you with the greenhorn? Tell me 
the straight story now, or you’ll regret 
it.” 

“I seen him leavin’ the shop, an’ I 
kind o’ thought the old man was a- 
sendin’ him off,” mumbled the culprit, 
indistinctly. 

“Speak up! speak up! I can’t hear half 
what you’re saying,” said the police- 
man. 

“I follered him about half a block 
behind, an’ I seen him a-goin’ up the 
steps. I was a-waitin’ outside fur him 


206 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


to come out, but I must have had my 
back turned when he come.” 

Well, and what happened then?” 

“ I thought I’d go up the steps an’ see 
what was a-keepin’ him. When I got 
to the second story I seen a winder 
open.” 

‘‘But how did you know Mrs. Olsen’s 
rooms?” 

“Father Ramon sent me there wunst. ” 

“You saw a window open? Was 
there any one inside?” 

“I couldn’t see no one; so I thought 
maybe she was out, an’ I’d jest climb in 
an’ see if Michael was there yet.” 

“And you did?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Was Michael within?” 

“No, he wasn’t. I went through all 
the rooms, an’ in one of ’em I seen this 
here bureau. I jest opened it for fun, 
an’ then I seen the pocket-book. I jest 
looked inside an’ seen the ten dollars, 
an’ somehow I took it — ’fore I 
thought.” 

“Was it the first money you ever 
stole?” 

^‘Yes, it was/’ he said, doggedly— 


REGGIE Curtin’s secret. 


207 


^^’cept a nickel now and then from 
mom.” 

‘‘Well, what next?” 

“Will you let me oif if I tell you all ?” 

“ I’ll do my best for you.” 

“I thought I heard some one a-comin’, 
so I threw the pocket-book down an’ 
run an’ climbed out the winder.” 

“And you saw no one?” 

“When I got to the head of the stairs 
there was a man a-comin’ down from 
the top flight. He come off the porch 
above Mrs. Olsen’s. That’s the noise I 
heard.” 

“ Did he say anything to you?” 

“Not a word; for I didn’t give him a 
chance. He was behind. I run down 
as fast as I could; an’ then I went up to 
Pete Bundy’s an’ told him the greenhorn 
got the sack from old man O’Donnell.” 

“Did you tell him what you had 
done?” 

“You bet I didn’t! I was too scared. 
I’d have put the money back again if I 
hadn’t been afraid.” 

“And didn’t you know that Michael 
was likely to be accused of the theft?” 

“ I never thought nothin’ about it.” 

“And what did you mean to do?’’ 


208 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


was afraid to keep the change of 
what I’d spent, so I give it to your 
Pete. I was a-thinkin’ that maybe I 
could git a job drivin’ wagon for Mr. 
Bromley this week; an’ when I got the 
two dollars I could put it to the eight, 
an’ maybe slip it under Mrs. Olsen’s 
door.” 

“I don’t believe a word of it, you 
crafty-eyed, snivelling sneak of a thief!” 
said the policeman, advancing a step 
nearer, with a shake of his fist that 
caused the boy to shrink back in terror. 
‘‘You ought to be jailed for this job; but 
for the sake of your decent grandmother 
that has her place in heaven this day, 
and for certain reasons of my own, 
which are none of your business. I’ll try 
and get you out of this scrape. What 
did you buy for the two dollars you 
spent?” 

“Pickles an’ things,” replied the boy. 
“ We ate ’em up last night.” 

“Was it from Murphy you got 
them?” 

“Yes, — pickles an’ crackers an’ cheese 
an’ things.” 

“Come out to the shop,” said Mr. 
Donovan, “Jimmy,” he began, ad^ 


EEGGIE CUKTIN’s SECRET. 


209 


dressing the proprietor, “here^s a boy 
I’d like you to take on for a week, 
driving the wagon while you’re looking 
for some one. He’s on vacation now 
and doesn’t want to be idling his time,” 
he added, with a significant wink at his 
compatriot. 

‘H’ll be very glad to oblige you, Mr. 
Donovan. Will he begin to-day?” 

“He will that — this very minute!” 
said the policeman, looking sternly at 
his crestfallen j^rote^e. “And at the end 
of the week you’ll be kind enough to 
hand me his wages, Jimmy.” 

“All right!” said the grocer. 

The policeman looked at his watch. 

“I must be off,” he said. “Curtin, I 
want to hear nothing but good accounts 
of you, — do you mind?” 

Resuming his beat, his mind full of 
ways and means by which Michael 
could be cleared without bringing the 
guilty one to justice, he had not gone 
far before he met Mr. O’Donnell, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Olsen and Lena. They 
were coming from the police court, 
where they had heard of the release of 
Michael. The old man was the picture 
of gloom; Mrs. Olsen, that of sorrow 


210 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


and despair. Of the three, Lena alone 
preserved her mental equilibrium. The 
policeman told them he was decidedly 
of the opinion that Michael had been 
wrongfully accused. 

‘^Although I arrested him,” he said, 
^‘it was in the performance of my duty. 
I am sure he can be cleared. If you have 
no objection, ma’am,” he remarked, 
turning to Mrs. Olsen, “I’ll step up to 
your place and look around.” 

“Come along, Mr. Policeman, when- 
ever you feel like it,” replied the good 
woman, wiping her tearful eyes. “If I 
think I have done wrong to that poor 
boy I can never forgive myself. Oh, I 
would be so glad to go to Father 
Ramon to see him, but I am ashamed! 
If Mr. O’Donnell he had not been in 
such a hurry, I would have let it go, 
any way.” 

“I did what I thought to be my duty, 
ma’am,” said the old man. “ Perhaps I 
was wrong, and I may have been right. 
The case comes up Wednesday, they tell 
me; and I think in the meantime the best 
thing we can do is to let the boy remain 
in peace where he is. If he’s guilty, 
’twill put him in a better frame of mind 


REGGIE Curtin’s secret. 


211 


— ^he may confess; and if he’s not guilty, 
he won’t be starving for a sight of us. 
That’s all Tve got to say.” 

They went their several ways, the 
policeman with a new idea in his mind — 
one that had come to him immediately 
before he had proposed a visit to the 
scene of the theft. 



XIX. 

BY STRATEGY. 

As Policeman Donovan pursued his 
rounds that day he gave himself up to 
.serious thought, with the result that, 
as soon as he had gone off duty and 
donned plain clothes, he stopped on his 
way home at the grocer’s where Curtin 
had changed the ten dollar gold piece. 
He was glad to find that it had not as 
yet passed from the man’s possession, as 
he wished it to be identified, if necessary, 
to his purpose. After receiving it in 
exchange for ten silver dollars, he con- 
tinued his homeward way. He was a 
kindly man; and when he entered the 
kitchen that evening, his boys saw by 
the expression of his face — one of deep 
thoughtfulness without harshness — that 
they were not again to be ^‘hauled over 
the coals,” as their mother expressed it, 
for past misdemeanors. 

When supper was over and the dishes 

put away — a task in which the children 
212 


BY STRATEGY. 


213 


assisted, — the father led the way into 
the sitting-room, requesting the boys 
to follow him. Mrs. Donovan knew 
that he had something important on 
his mind ; she, therefore, made haste to 
accompany the party. When the lamp 
had been lighted, and the family were 
seated in a state of expectancy around 
the table, he thus unbosomed his 
mind. 

“Boys,” he said, “I am going to do a 
thing to-night that I can’t just settle 
with my conscience is the best thing; 
but I don’t see what else there’s left for 
me to do ; and if it teaches you a lesson 
you won’t soon forget, I believe God 
will forgive me the little bit of wrong 
there may be in it. I know it is the 
duty of every man, and especially one in 
my position, not to defeat the ends of 
justice; but in this case the reputation 
of those that are dearer to me than my 
own life is at stake — or may be, to 
speak the correct truth; and I have 
concluded to use a little harmless deceit 
in the business I have in hand. There is 
mischief enough done already. I had 
no right to be so hasty in taking 
up Michael O’Donnell. It’s a wise 


214 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


warning, that, please God, I mean to 
profit by.’^ 

The boys looked at each other wonder- 
ingly, not having the slightest idea 
to what their father was referring. 
Through the open door of the sitting- 
room, which their mother had purposely 
left ajar that she might occasionally 
cast her eye upon it, the kitchen wall 
glared white and shining, — in her 
opinion, a tribute and monument to 
the willing industry which had changed 
it from a smoke -blacked surface to a 
spotless background, whereon the 
newly-cleaned tins shone in unwonted 
silvery splendor. Surely the husband 
and father could not be intending to 
inflict punishment on the two who had 
labored with her so untiringly all day ! 
Her husband followed her glance, inter- 
preted it, and made use of it with good 
eflect. 

“Boys,^^ he went on, ‘‘I’ve been 
looking at your day’s work, and it 
has pleased me greatly. He that is 
industrious can never be a worthless 
member of society. He may have his 
faults — we all have them, — but he’ll be 
of use in the world, I promise yon. 


BY STEATEGY. 


215 


There’s hope for you yet, provided you 
sack the bad company. To tell the 
truth outright, and there’s no need to 
hide it, I’ve found the thief that stole 
the Swede woman’s money. It was 
Curtin ; he confessed it. I have the ten 
dollars he took in my pocket this 
minute, — the very same ten dollars. 
Here it is,” and he held it up to view. 
‘‘Curtin is the guilty party, as I told 
you; and poor little Michael O’Donnell 
will have to be let go free. Bad as it 
was for him, God had some design in it, 
you may be sure. And I am convinced 
it will be a warning to my boys not 
to associate with those that are sure to 
be thieves and robbers of the worst 
class, if they go on in, the way they’ve 
begun. If I took Curtin up, as maybe I 
ought to have done, the next thing I 
know I’d have to see you called as 
witnesses against him; for you both 
knew he had the money. And then the 
whole story would be out, and you’d be 
suspected of having a finger in the pie. 
I could do what I’m going to do with- 
out telling any of you a word of this; 
but I want you to know the danger 
you’ve escaped, and to impress it on 


216 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

your minds to be good boys hereafter.’^ 

The boys and their mother were cer- 
tainly impressed by what the policeman 
had said, particularly after he had 
unfolded the entire plan. But this was 
not until Neddie had been sent to bed, 
as one too young and indiscreet to be 
trusted. He went reluctantly, with the 
unavowed intention of listening on the 
stairway, for which purpose he left the 
door ajar. But no sooner had he put 
his foot upon the first step than it was 
closed behind him by his mother, with 
the declaration that she would listen 
‘for a foot on that creaking step; and 
if she heard it, as she had often done 
before, he’d get the best trouncing she 
ever gave him yet.’ Frightened and 
foiled, the would-be eavesdropper went 
sensibly and speedily to his couch, 
where he soon found repose. After his 
departure, the policeman, under strict 
promise of secrecy from the others, 
unfolded his plan, to which they all 
gave their unhesitating approval. What 
it was the reader will soon learn. 

Eight o’clock was striking as Mr. 
Donovan set forth from his home and 
walked briskly in the direction of Mrs. 


BY STRATEGY. 


217 


Olsefl’s. When he arrived he found, 
besides the widow and her children, Mr. 
O’Donnell and a young man whom he 
had never seen before, whom they 
introduced as Mr. Halligan, the nephew 
of a neighbor. 

“And have you any good news, Mr. 
Donovan ?” inquired Mrs. Olsen, as she 
placed a chair. “Have you seen little 
Michael to-day?” 

“No, ma’am, I haven’t,” was the reply. 
“I’m on duty all day, and I knew him 
safe with Father Ramon. Did any of 
you see him? ” 

Mr. O’Donnell was silent. He had not 
spoken a word since the entrance of the 
policeman, only acknowledging his pres- 
ence by a slight nod. 

“Mother went up,” said Lena; but 
she didn’t see him. Poor little Michael 
was asleep, the housekeeper said. No 
wonder. I should think he needed sleep 
after being all night in the dirty station- 
house.” 

Without being aware of it, perhaps, 
she cast what might be called a re- 
proachful glance at Mr. O’Donnell, who, 
unconscious of it, stared into the tiny 
fire which burned in the grate. 


218 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Yes, I did went up,” said Mrs. Olsen, 
taking Gustave on Her knee and strok- 
ing his chubby fat hand, while she 
continued: “Twice I got ready to start? 
and twice I sat down again ; for I could 
not think what I must say to him when 
I am there. Maybe he wouldn’t speak 
to me no more neither, if he didn’t steal 
the money and he thinks I accuse him 
of it. And I wouldn’t wonder one bit. 
But again I think I will have to go up 
and talk to him. I am ashamed — yes, 
ashamed to meet him, Mr. Donovan. 
I don’t know how it happen that the 
money is gone; but I hear stranger 
things than that, when everybody 
thinks a person has done something, 
and then it is found out that it is all a 
lie or a mistake.” 

“I can understand just how you feel, 
Mrs. Olsen,” said the policeman. “I 
never was sorrier for anything in my 
life than to take him up, nor gladder 
than when I heard he was out on bail.” 

“You weren’t slow in nabbing him, 
then,” said the old man, looking grimly 
at the policeman. 

“’Twasn’t I that gave the orders 
to have him caught, begging your 


BY STEATEGY. 


219 


pardon ! ” replied the guardian of the 
law, with an intelligent glance at Lena, 
who answered it sympathetically, by 
an approving nod and smile. 

“Well, ’taint no use talking about that 
now,” said Mrs. Olsen, who was, above 
all things, a lover of peace. “I was 
telling you that I went up there at last. 
I didn’t see no one but the housekeeper, 
and she said the boy was asleep. 
Then I come home. Now you got any 
news, Mr. Donovan?” 

“Not exactly,” said the policeman, in 
a tone of apparent disappointment. 
“ But I may be able to do something. I 
would like to examine the premises, if 
you have no objection, ma’am.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” 
replied the widow. “You think maybe 
there wasn’t a thorough search made? ” 
“That’s what I mean,” said the police- 
man. “Of course I’m not here as an 
officer now, only as a friend. You 
wouldn’t mind my looking through the 
bureau drawer, ma’am, I suppose?” 

“That bureau drawer what we find 
wide open when we come home!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Olsen. “Lena and me 
been through it three times — turned 


220 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


everything upside down and inside out. 
But you may look, to be sure.” 

Taking up the lamp, she led the way 
into the bedroom and opened the 
drawer. 

“First let me see the pocket-book,” 
said Mr. Donovan. 

She placed it in his hand. It was old 
and clumsily fashioned, and as he 
opened it something rolled out on the 
floor. He stooped to pick it up; it 
proved to be a ring. Mrs. Olsen began 
turning over the contents of the drawer, 
somewhat surprised that he did not 
show more interest in them, as he had 
asked to examine them. 

“You could hardly have missed it,” 
he said, “turning things over so often. 
Let us take this back into the room 
with us,” he continued, still holding 
the pocket-book. “ ’Tis home-made 
by the look of it, and maybe you didn’t 
examine every hole and corner of it.” 

“You’re right. My sister in Sweden 
did make it and send it to me,” said the 
widow. “ It is of pasteboards — you call 
it, I believe, — covered with silk that was 
scraps of my mother’s wedding-dress, 
Mr. Donovan.” 


BY STRATEGY. 


221 


^^Well, now, was it? I’m sure you 
value it highly,” said the policeman, 
tarrying a few steps behind her as she 
passed into the sitting-room, carrying 
the lamp in her hand. In that brief 
moment he had cut a slit in the inner 
lining with his penknife, and inserted 
the ten dollar gold piece in the space 
between it and the pasteboard. 

Once in the sitting-room again, he 
went over to the table, and, in full view 
of all present, shook the contents of the 
pocket-book. They consisted of the few 
trinkets that had always been kept 
there; there seemed to be nothing else. 
Suddenly he made an exclamation. 

^‘What’s this?” he said, feeling along 
the inside. Then, quickly inserting his 
forefinger in the slit he had cut a few 
moments previous, he drew forth a ten 
dollar gold piece. 

^‘There is your money, Mrs. Olsen!” 
he cried triumphantly, holding it up in 
plain sight. 

There were loud exclamations of joy 
and surprise, everyone crowding for- 
ward to see the discovery, — everyone 
but Mrs. Olsen, who, throwing herself 
into the rocking-chair, began to cry and 


222 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


sob aloud, upbraiding herself while she 
wept. 

“Oh, what a careless woman I am,” 
she exclaimed, “not to look in the inside 
better of that old pocket-book ! So easy 
for that money to fall in there, and so 
easy for me to say that good little boy 
is a thief! Oh, how shall I ever now 
have the face to meet him 1 Surely some 
day some one does the same to my poor 
Gustave for what I done to Michael.” 

Seizing the child in her arms, she 
began to rock to and fro, still weeping 
and calling herself all kinds of igno- 
minious names. Lena also was crying, 
but quietly; for her tears were of joy 
and gratitude. 

“May God forgive us all!” said Mr. 
O’Donnell, when Mrs. Olsen had some- 
what subsided, as he turned the pocket- 
book inside out again and again. 

“Amen I say with all my heart!” 
replied Mrs. Olsen, fervently. “And God 
bless you, Mr. Donovan, for the good 
act you have done to-night. Oh, let us 
go quick now to Father Ramon and tell 
him, so that little Michael sleeps this 
night in peace! Let us go quick, you 
and me and Mr, O’Donnell; though I 


BY STEATEGY. 


223 


would ratlier take a good whipping 
than meet that poor innocent child.” 

“No,” said the old man gently, 
motioning her to remain seated. “I’ll 
engage he’s sleeping peacefully enough 
by now, and we’ll not disturb him or 
the priest this night. But to-morrow 
morning I’ll go myself and fetch him to 
you, Mrs. Olsen, — that is, if he’ll come, 
and I think he will. Badly as he has 
been treated, I don’t believe he’ll carry 
a bit of malice in his heart.” 

“He won’t,” said Lena, with convic- 
tion, sniffling audibly and wiping her 
eyes. “Poor Michael will be just as 
glad for us as for himself, and just as 
sorry. He is the best boy and the nicest 
boy that was ever bom ; and I hope it 
will happen to him like it always does 
in stories.” 

She was looking at the old man as 
she spoke; he noticed the intentness of 
her gaze, and smiled. 

“How does it happen in stories? ” he 
asked. “How does it happen, Lena ? ” 

“Some good, kind, rich old man takes 
them in and adopts them, and sends 
them to school; and when he dies he 
leaves them all his money,” she 


224 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


answered, her glanee never wavering. 

“You are a queer girl, Lena!” said 
the old man, turning away. 

“I think she’s a fine girl and a brave 
girl,” said the policeman, wishing that 
one of his boys had been just such a 
girl. 



XX. 

FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. 

Mr. O’Donnell and the policeman left 
the house together, — the former with a 
heavy burden lifted from his mind ; the 
latter content in the success of a strat- 
agem which could not have deceived 
any but persons as simple-minded as 
those innocent souls to whom his little 
scheme had restored peace and compar- 
ative happiness. He had been rather 
fearful lest his present companion might 
not have been satisfied with the evi- 
dence which had just been produced; 
and doubted even now whether, after 
thinking the matter over, the old man 
might not inquire as to how the bureau 
drawer came to be open and the pocket- 
book lying on the floor, — a fact which 
had been patent not only to himsell 
and Mrs. Olsen but to others as well, 
and which had been related through 
the building and in the vicinity to those 
who had not seen it with their own 

225 


226 THK FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


ejes. But as yet no suspicion had 
entered the mind of the old man, 
relieved as he felt by the fortunate 
occurrence of the evening. As they 
turned the comer of the porch at the 
foot of the stairs some one hailed them. 

“Hello!” called a man’s voice from 
the upper floor. “Wait a minute! I 
want to speak to you, policeman.” 

The owner of the voice was Mr. 
Halligan — the young man who was 
present at the Olsens’ when Mr. Dono- 
van called that evening, but who had 
taken his departure a few minutes 
later. 

“I have just a word to say about 
that stealing yonder,” he continued, as 
the three men walked along. 

“What have you to say ? ” asked Mr. 
Donovan, brusquely. “The thing is 
all settled: the money’s found.” 

“It is!” rejoined the other, in a tone 
of great interest. “Glad to hear it. 
And is the thief found too ? ” 

“ No,” replied Mr. O’Donnell. “ There 
was no thief. The money had slipped 
through a tear in the old purse. It was 
inside the lining of one of the pockets.” 

“Who found it?” asked Mr. HaUigan. 


FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. 


227 


“I did, ’’answered the policeman, “not 
more than a quarter of an hour ago, 
there in the room. When people are 
excited they oftentimes overlook things. 
’Tis a good job it was found, too; the 
poor boy that was accused can now go 
free.” 

“Well, well!” said Halligan. “That 
is a very queer thing, — a very queer thing 
indeed. But what I was wanting to 
see you about was this: I was afraid 
you hadn’t caught the right boy. But 
if the money was there all the time, I 
have no more to say.” 

“Why did you think they had the 
wrong boy?” asked the old man, as the 
policeman had anticipated he would do. 

“ Well,” said the young fellow, “I was 
here about the time it was stolen.” 

“How did you know what time it 
was stolen?” asked the old man. 

“I didn’t, ’’was the reply; “but I made 
a guess at it. I’ll tell you what I know. 
I was on hand this morning to give my 
testimony if they’d take it, and I’d be 
willing to go again if I was called. I 
hear the boy was bailed.” 

“He was,” said the policeman. “He 
is at the priest’s house.” 


228 THE FORTUNES OF A MTTLB EMIGRANT. 

on with your tale,” interposed 
Mr. O’Donnell, much interested. 

I’m just in from the mines,” said the 
young man. “I have an aunt living in 
the building; she moved here while I 
was away. Yesterday I came in to 
town and was searching for my aunt. 
About eleven o’clock I was coming up 
the steps and a boy passed me. He 
looked as if he’d been crying — and crying 
hard, — and he had a bundle over his 
shoulder on a bit of a stick. I asked 
him where Mrs. Halligan lived, and he 
told me. I pitied him; he had a good 
face; and I thought maybe his father or 
mother had lately died and he was 
starting out on the world. There’s one 
thing I’ll say, moreover: he didn’t look 
like a thief. I meant to ask my aunt if 
she knew him; but I forgot all about it, 
talking of other things. I stayed ten or 
fifteen minutes, and then I went out for 
some sweets for the children. When I 
came to the top of the stairs, a boy ran 
round the comer of the porch and down 
the steps, as fast as he could go. It 
wasn’t the same boy; the first little 
feUow was walking at a decent pace, 
this one was running at the top of his 


rUETHER EXPLANATIONS. 


229 


speed. The first one — ^he that, by the 
description IVe heard, they Ve taken up 
for stealing— had a pair of fine eyes in 
his head and a grand crop of short curly 
hair. The other was taller, — a skinny 
fellow, with small, light -blue, shifty 
eyes, and thin sandy hair. Maybe he’s 
not a thief, but he looked like one; and 
it’s my opinion — or Hwas my opinion — 
that he was the fellow who stole the 
money. That’s what I wanted to see 
you for, policeman.” 

“That description is very like the 
Curtin boy,” said Mr. O’Donnell, turn- 
ing to the policeman. 

“And I saw the same fellow on a 
wagon driving to-day,” remarked Hal- 
ligan. “But if the money’s found he 
couldn’t have stolen it.” 

The trio had arrived at the corner of 
the street, and the young man turned 
to go. 

“ My way lies north,” he said in part- 
ing. “ I’ll bid you good-night, and I’m 
very glad the boy will get off.” 

“Good-nightJ” said the two men; the 
policeman adding: “We’re obliged to 
you. You might have been of service if 
we had needed you.” 


230 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


After he had left them they walked on 
in silence till the old man said: 

“Donovan, I’m strongly inclined to 
believe that Cnrtin was in the house. 
Maybe you’ve forgotten that the bureau 
drawer was open. Some one had been 
rummaging there. ’Twas on his ac- 
count I gave Michael the sack. He’d 
been hanging round the place for a 
couple of days, and I questioned Michael 
about it. That was the beginning of 
the whole business. I wasn’t feeling 
well: I had a pain in my hip; that 
sciatica’s a terrible thing.” 

He then proceeded to relate, as he 
knew and remembered it, the story of 
Michael’s dismissal. When he had con- 
cluded the policeman said: 

“You were a trifle hasty, Mr. 
O’Donnell; but, for that matter, so 
was I. I realized it afterward. You 
never had children of your own?” 

“I never had,” was the reply. “But 
I took a liking to the boy the first time 
I laid my two eyes on him; and how I 
came to cut him so short and send him 
off that way I can’t explain to you or 
any one else. But he oughtn’t to have 
taken me at my word, so he oughtn’t.” 


FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. 


231 


“I don’t see how he could well have 
helped it,” answered the policeman, 
dryly. 

“But about the Curtin boy,” con- 
tinued the old man. “I hayen’t a doubt 
now but that the rascal followed 
Michael at a distance; and, finding the 
window open, crept in and rummaged 
about till a noise startled him. Don’t 
you think that was the way of it your- 
self? It ought to be looked into, 
Donovan. He ought to be locked up.” 

“Oh, give us a rest for a while!” said 
the policeman. “There’s been too much 
of that kind of work done the last 
couple of days. There’s a lesson in 
Michael’s case that I’ll not forget in a 
hurry. Besides, you’ve no proof against 
Curtin except what that young fellow 
said.” 

“And wasn’t that enough?” 

“Well, it was and it wasn’t. Enough 
to cause suspicion, I should say, but no 
more. And remember, Mr. O’Donnell, 
the boy has a mother.” 

“Little care she takes of her family 
then, if he is a specimen,” said the old 
man. “A sojourn in the Reform School 
would serve him weH” 


232 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

‘‘I doubt it/’ returned the policeman. 
“I’ve had some experience with that 
class, and it’s little reforming they do, I 
can tell you. The best way is to keep 
the boys in nights. That’s the time 
they learn the mischief. I think we’d 
better drop the matter right here, and if 
we have a suspicion let us keep it to 
ourselves.” 

“It mightn’t be out of the way to 
whisper a hint of it in the young one’s 
ear; it might tend to keep him straight. 
Will you do that much, Donovan?” 

“I will,” was the reply — with a 
mental reservation for which he had no 
scruples. 

They parted at the corner near Mr. 
O’Donnell’s shop, and Mr. Donovan 
then went to his home, well pleased 
with his evening’s work. But, before 
taking leave of the Donovan family, it 
may not be out of place to inform the 
reader that the lesson impressed on the 
boys by the events of the past few days 
was not without lasting fruits. For- 
saking their evil ways, they learned to 
obey their father and mother, and 
eventually became good and useful 
members of society. Curtin and Dortey, 


FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. 


283 


with several others, were not so fortu- 
nate. Without good example at home, 
they followed their own devices abroad, 
and these, though pleasant to them- 
selves, were not conducive to good 
morals or satisfactory to the general 
public. Later they joined the large 
army of criminals that fill our jails and 
penitentiaries, where they will probably 
spend the greater part of their lives. 

After Mr. O’Donnell had gone in and 
locked the door, he lit the lamp, and 
drawing forth an old trunk from a closet 
in the back part of the store, he began 
to examine its contents. He found 
several books and a rosary, besides a 
couple of pious pictures. Looking at 
them long and earnestly, he laid them 
aside once more; and there was a pleased 
smile on his face as he made his prepara- 
tions for retiring. And after he had lain 
down, having first said a prayer on his 
knees, as, although not a practical 
Catholic, was his custom every night, 
he fell asleep, formulating a plan which 
afforded him much pleasure. 

*‘It will all be settled to-morrow, 
please God!” he thought. “And who 
knows if it wasn’t for the best? He 


234 : THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


that made and cares for ns all takes 
strange ways of doing His work some- 
times.” 

In the Olsen household mother and 
daughter sat talking far into the night, 

^‘It seems to me, Lena,” said the 
widow, ^‘like I can’t hardly wait until 
morning to go and tell Michael how 
mistaken I have been. And I don’t 
know neither how I can explain to him 
so that he will believe me.” 

“Of course he will believe you mother, ” 
said Lena. “I know that Michael will 
be just the same as ever with us all; and 
when you see him the right thing to 
say will come into ^'^our mind. Take 
Gustave along, and that will make it 
easy for you.” 

“And you will come too, Lena?” 

‘ No, mother, I won’t go along. You 
almost forget that I must go down for 
that washing — or some one must.” 

“No, no!” said the widow. “That 
you must not do. When we come home 
again, Michael and me, we can stop on 
the way and gather it. And that will 
seem like old times again.” 

Lena sighed. “ No, mother, she said, 
mournfully. “Something tells me that 


FURTHEE EXPLANATIONS. 


235 


Michael will not come back here again 
to live, or carry any more washing for 
ns.” 

“But why, child, — why? That is not 
like what you say a little while ago, 
that he will not be vexed with us at all. 
What do you mean, Lena?” 

“I can’t say, mother, just what it is; 
but I do feel like Michael will not live 
here any longer.” 

“0 dear, that will be too bad!” said 
the kind woman, who had a great 
respect for her wise little daughter’s 
opinion. “But whatever happens God 
will make it all come out for good, I 
know.” 

And then those two kind-hearted 
people composed themselves to sleep. 



XXI. 


GOOD NEWS. 

Michael had finished his breakfast, 
and was standing at the window, look- 
ing out. Father Ramon was reading 
the morning paper. Father Sebastiano, 
who had returned late the previous 
afternoon from a pressing business trip 
into the country, was pacing up and 
down the floor, vigorously smoking a 
huge Mexican cigar, three of which — 
and no more — he disposed of in like 
manner every day. There had been a 
time when Father Sebastiano, like all 
Spaniards, was an inveterate smoker; 
but they told a story of sacrifice on his 
part in this connection which, if true 
(and I believe it to have been), seemed 
nothing short of heroic. However, this 
has nothing to do with our story, save 
inasmuch as it gives an indication of 
the real nature of the good priest, par- 
tially hidden under a somewhat bluff 
exterior. 

236 


GOOD NEWS. 


237 


Suddenly Michael turned from the 
window in evident agitation, and yet 
he was smiling and seemed pleased. 

“Here comes Mr. O’Donnell!” he said. 
“He’s walking very slowly, with his 
head down. Maybe he has trouble. 
Shall I let him in. Father?” 

“It would not be surprising if he had 
trouble,” said Father Sebastiano, paus- 
ing in his walk and approaching the 
window. 

“ Yes, let him in if you wish, Michael,” 
replied Father Ramon, glancing at his 
friend as the boy hurried into the hall. 
“Did you ever see anything like that, 
Sebastiano?” he continued, putting the 
paper aside. “Could you imagine that 
any human being would be so angelic 
as not only to forgive that old man, but 
really not to seem to be aware that an 
injury had been inflicted ?” 

“ It touched me very much,” remarked 
Father Sebastiano, resuming his cigar 
and his walk. “I could scarcely have 
imagined such a state of mind. You 
were right this time, Ramon, as I told 
you last night. That is a remarkable 
boy. Shall we have the old man in 
here?” 


238 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“Wait a little,” said Father Ramon. 
“There may be some words to be said 
that he would wish to say without 
listeners.” 

“Very well,” said Father Sebastiano. 

There was a murmur of voices in the 
hall for a moment; then the door slowly 
opened and Michael appeared. 

“ Is it in here I’ll bring Mr. O’Donnell, 
Father?” he asked. 

“Yes, yes!” said the priest. “Let him 
come here, of course.” 

“Good-morning, Fathers!” said the 
old man as he entered, bowing respect- 
fully to both priests, in accordance with 
the fashion of his youth. “I have very 
good news this morning. I told it to 
Michael outside, as you can see by his 
face.” 

It was true. The fair, open counte- 
nance of the boy was like April sunshine; 
his lips curved in a happy smile, his eyes 
full of tears. He had meant that Mr. 
O’Donnell should announce the good 
tidings, but his great joy and eagerness 
could no longer be restrained. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Michael, advancing 
to Father Ramon, with head uplifted 
and hands clasped tightly together — an 


GOOD NEWS. 


239 


attitude which expressed most forcibly 
how deeply he had felt and was feeling, 
— “oh! oh! oh! Father!” (each ejaculation 
growing more tremulous, more intense), 
“the money’s found, thank God! — the 
money’s found! It wasn’t taken at all. 
Father! Father! Father!” 

No longer could the boy control the 
sobs that shook his body from head to 
foot. Father Sebastiano turned to the 
window; the old man sat down with 
rapidly blinking eyelids and twitching 
lips; while Father Ramon opened his 
kind arms and drew Michael close to 
his shoulder. 

“There, there!” he said, patting him 
on the head as his mother might have 
done. “Cry if you will, little Michael; 
and when you have done, we will hear 
this wonderful news.” 

The action recalled the boy to himself 
Conquering his emotion with a mighty’' 
effort, he stood erect, with flushed and 
tearful face, wiping his eyes with one 
hand while he said: 

“What is it that’s ailing me that I 
should be crying like this? But it was 
the joy of not being thought a thief by 


240 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


those that have been so good to me that 
made me break down.’’ 

He looked from the priest to the old 
man as he spoke, with an expression 
which would lead a looker-on to sup- 
pose that they had been equal benefac- 
tors. To Father Ramon the action 
expressed a beauty of soul rarer even 
than he had imagined the boy possessed. 
Involuntarily he sought a sympathetic 
glance in the eyes of his friend, but he 
did not receive it. Father Sebastiano 
was made of different stuff. It seemed 
to him to indicate weakness of character 
that the boy should not feel an honest 
resentment against Mr. O’Donnell, who 
had been the chief cause of his misfort- 
unes. But he was to learn very soon 
that Michael’s sense of justice could be 
evoked when necessary. 

“Well, now, Mr. O’Donnell, suppose 
you let us know when the affair took 
this favorable turn?” said Father 
Ramon. 

Mr. O’Donnell was not loquacious, 
and used no superfluous words in telling 
the story of the preceding evening as the 
reader already knows it. Michael bent 
forward, listening with flushed cheeks 


GOOD NEWS. 


241 


and parted lips. But when the old man 
had finished, the others were surprised 
to hear him say, in a disappointed 
tone: 

“But that doesn’t clear me. They 
told me the bureau drawer was found 
open, and the pocket-book lying on the 
floor. How am I to get round that, tell 
me? Some one must have been in the 
place searching the things. And even if 
Mrs. Olsen did make a mistake about 
the money, it looks yet as though I had 
been rummaging the drawers.” 

The priests exchanged glances; the 
frown that had rested between Father 
Sebastiano’s heavy brows entirely dis- 
appeared. He no longer felt dubious as 
to the strength of Michael’s character. 

“You are right, Michael,” he said. 
“It is just as you say. The loss of 
the money was a mistake, but it still 
remains in evidence that the bureau 
was ransacked and the pocket-book 
disturbed. It can not be possible that, 
in her surprise and apprehension at 
finding the window open, the woman 
was in error about this ? ” he continued, 
addressing Mr. O’Donnell. 

Father Ramon also turned toward 


242 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

him, awaiting his answer. To the sur- 
prise of his audience, the old man drew 
forth his handkerchief, coughed, wiped 
his mouth, and appeared not a little 
confused ; at length he said : 

“No ! no ! that was not a mistake at 
all. The drawer was open, — I saw it 
myself. Maybe little Gustave — or you 
couldn’t have gone through it looking 
for some of your things, Michael?” he 
faltered, his glance dropping beneath 
the clear, questioning eyes of the boy. 

“There were never any of my things 
in Mrs. Olsen’s bureau,” he replied. “If 
there were, and I looking for them, I 
couldn’t have run away like that, 
throwing the pocket-book on the floor.” 

“Did you meet any one going up or 
down the outside stairs, or was there 
any one hovering round the neighbor- 
hood?” asked the old man, shuffling 
uneasily in his chair, inwardly wishing 
that he had not promised the policeman 
to keep silence in regard to his suspicion, 
as well as to the information imparted 
by Mr. Halligan the previous evening. 

“I met a pleasant -looking young 
fellow on my way down, and he asked 
me did Mrs. Halligan live in the build- 


GOOD NEWS. 


243 


ing,” said the boy. But be never went 
through Mrs. Olsen’s chest of drawers, 
sir. He had the manner of a decent 
man.” 

“Michael,” said Mr. O’Donnell, re- 
garding him steadfastly yet kindly, “let 
me say a few words. I hold myseli 
responsible for this whole sad business. 
Maybe the sciatica was more than hah 
the cause of it — and I believe it was; 
but that’s no excuse for bad temper and 
injustice, if thef truth’s told — and it’s 
always the best to tell it, whatever 
ensues. You’re sure to be a lawyer 
some day, my boy, you’re that smart. 
I never thought you’d think of the like, 
nor ask a question, for joy at knowing 
the money was found. Such a meek, 
soft little creature as you seem, no one 
would think it. But I was mistaken; 
and I’ll make a clean breast of what 1 
know, as far as I can, without breaking 
a fair promise I made last night. There 
was some one in the room, going 
through the drawers, and it’s known 
who. But if it was told, there are 
several others would be likely to be 
dragged in; and you wouldn’t be the 
cause of making fathers’ and mothers’ 


244 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


hearts bleed, would you, my boy ? 
’Twas in the papers before, and I’ll see 
that it’s put in again — the right way, I 
mean. I’ll see that they’ll explain it 
was all a mistake ; and ’twill be no lie. 
And it will pass over, and you’ll be none 
the worse. And you’ll not ask me any 
more questions now, Michael?” 

While the old man had been making 
this brief explanation the boy’s face had 
cleared and brightened. 

^‘Let it be so,” he replied. “God for- 
bid that I’d be the means of bringing 
others into trouble because I’m out of 
it myself! You’re right, sir, as far as 
clearing my own good name goes. I’m 
little known here ; and so long as I go 
free before the court ’twill be all right, 
I suppose.” 

The old man heaved a sigh of relief. 

“That’s a good boy,” he said. “Am 
I not right. Father?” he continued, 
turning to Father Sebastiano. 

“I don’t know about that,” said the 
priest. “If the thief is known, it looks 
as if he ought to be punished — ” 

“But there was nothing stolen really,” 
interrupted Father Ramon. “And it is 


GOOD NEWS. 


24:5 


not likely that anything could be 
proven.” 

In his own mind he had become 
convinced that one of “the gang” — 
probably Curtin, who, he remembered, 
had been looking for Michael that day— 
was the guilty party. Foreseeing the 
consequences that would be likely to 
ensue if this boy were accused, he was 
desirous that the matter should be 
dropped entirely. 

“Perhaps you are right,” said his 
friend, also with a half inkling of the 
truth. 

The bell rang, and Father Ramon went 
to the door, returning presently to 
usher in Mrs. Olsen and Gustave. The 
child rushed up to Michael with a cry 
of joy; but his mother held aloof, 
looking round the room in confusion, 
not knowing what to say. Father 
Sebastiano placed a chair ; and Michael 
approached her, timidly offering his 
hand. She took it in both of hers, 
drawing him toward her. 

“I see you know it all, Michael,” she 
said, in a choking voice. “I thought I 
was very early coming to tell you and 
ask you to forgive me, but I see Mr. 


246 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


O’Donnell has come first. Oh, what a 
terrible three days this has been ! I 
almost can wonder why Our Lord 
allows these things to be.” 

“For a good purpose, Madame, as 
you will soon see,” replied Father 
Sebastiano, reverently. 

Still holding Michael’s hand, she 
looked at him so pathetically that he 
could not repress a smile. 

“Be easy, Mrs. Olsen!” he said. “Don’t 
fret. Sure it’s all over now ; and you’ll 
see, as the priest says, good will come 
from it.” 

“And you forgive me, little Michael? ” 
pleaded the woman, with tearful eyes. 

“And why? — for what?” asked the 
boy. “Sure you did nothing at all. 
What could you think, finding the house 
open and me gone, but that I took your 
money? Wasn’t I a stranger to you, 
ma’am? ” 

“Never, never!” cried the now weeping 
woman, springing to her feet and clasp- 
ing the blushing boy to her bosom. 
“ The first moment I saw your innocent, 
kind face, I knew you were good, and I 
loved you almost like my own. And il 
you will come back now with me you 


GOOD NEWS. 


247 


shall have a home under my roof so 
long as you want it — so long as I live.” 

Releasing the boy, who could not 
answer her, she again sat down. 

“Oh, yes, come home, Michael!” said 
little Gustave. “Lena will have your 
room all ready again when we get 
there; she told me to tell you.” 

Michael looked at Father Ramon, 
who in his turn, appealed, by a glance, 
to Father Sebastiano, who said: 

“ That is very kind, Mrs. Olsen; but — ” 

“The very minute he wants it his old 
place is waiting for him,” interrupted 
Mr. O’Donnell. “And I’ll make it desir- 
able for him to stay in it, moreover,” 
he added, slapping his knee with his 
open hand. 

“As I was saying, it is very, very 
kind,” resumed the priest. “But last 
night Father Ramon and myself made 
other arrangements for Michael — that 
was of course, on condition that he 
should be cleared before the court of the 
crime laid to his charge, which we 
considered almost certain. Now that 
events are favorable, our intention still 
holds. That rich and good old Mr. 
van Rossum, of whom you have all 


248 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

heard no doubt, will pay one year’s 
schooling for him at Mount Saint 
Valerian; and after that, if Michael 
should prove worthy, we will keep him 
free of charge until his education is 
finished — as far as we can finish it. I 
would have taken him from the first, 
but Mr. van Rossum insists upon help- 
ing ; he has taken a great liking to the 
boy. Now, Mrs. Olsen,” he continued, 
turning to her with a smile, “will you 
say again that you do not know why 
God permits these terrible things to 
be? ” 

“Never again, if the Lord will for- 
give me, Father,” answered the good 
woman, solemnly. “Michael ought to 
be a happy boy to-day, and I know he 
is, and will be a good boy always, 
always ; for the dear God He have 
done great things for him, — very great 
things.” 

The boy, shy, smiling, his eyes beam- 
ing, was about to speak, when Mr. 
O’Donnell suddenly interrupted him 
with a wave of the hand. 

“We all know Mr. van Rossum to be 
an excellent man,” he said, in stem, 
accents, as though passing sentence on 


GOOD NEWS. 


249 


a criminal; “but it is I—/, Michael 
O’Donnell, his namesake — who will fur- 
nish whatever is required for his outfit — 
books, and so on. And this is to be 
while he remains at school, if I live. If 
I die in the meantime, provision shall 
be made beforehand for the same.” 

Having thus delivered himself, the 
old man glared upon his auditors, as if 
to ask: “Are there any that dare gain- 
say me?” And, hearing no dissenting 
voice, his countenance became once 
more placid and serene. 

For a moment there was silence. 
Then Michael, unable to control him- 
self with dignity any longer, rushed 
abruptly from the room. 

After he had gone. Father Ramon and 
Mrs. Olsen were not slow to express 
their satisfaction at the kindness evinced 
by Mr. O’Donnell in thus assisting to 
provide for Michael’s future. But he 
would not listen to them, adroitly turn- 
ing the conversation by addressing 
Father Sebastian o. 

“And when will you start. Father?” 
he inquired. 

“As soon as the case is dismissed,” 
replied the priest. 


250 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

^‘That will be Wednesday,” remarked 
Father Ramon. 

“Four days yet,” said the old man. 
“But if the Father has business in town, 
it won’t be long to wait. And I’d like if 
there was some kind lady that would 
go with the boy and see him furnished 
with everything he needs in the way of 
clothing — and that of the best.” 

“That is very nice, Mr. O’Donnell,” 
said the priest. “I will think of some 
one to ask, and Father Sebastiano will 
furnish the list of articles needed.” 

“Well, well!” said Father Sebastiano, 
rubbing his hands, his face one broad 
smile. “Our little Michael is in good 
luck indeed. Eh, Father Ramon ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the jubilant young 
priest. “For once you can not crow 
over me and my mistakes. I was not 
wrong this time, at least. Father.” 

“No,” said the other, gravely. “There 
is in Michael material for a good and 
perhaps a great man.” 

The others now prepared to take their 
departure. Father Ramon thinking it as 
well that they should not see Michael 
again that day. Gustave was incon- 
solable; he had expected the hoy to 


GOOD NEWS. 


251 


accompany them home. Though at 
first disappointed at his non-arrival, 
Lena was oveijoyed at the good news; 
predicting everything in the nation^s gift 
for the boy except the presidency, in 
relation to which her mother suggested 
that new laws might possibly be 
enacted before he should be old enough 
to occupy the position. 

On the way homeward the old man 
could not forbear giving Mrs. Olsen a 
hint of the true state of affairs, — such 
a strong one indeed that, with the 
aid of the description furnished by Mrs. 
Halligan’s nephew of the boy he had 
seen running away, “the building,’^ 
soon became aware that Reggie Curtin’s 
good name was suspiciously involved 
in the transaction which had caused the 
innocent Michael so much shame and 
suffering. 

As for Michael, his heart was over- 
flowing with quiet joy. When Father 
Ramon went to look for him, he found 
him seated on the bed in the small 
room where he had passed the night; 
his hands clasped loosely on his knees, 
his eyes filled with a solemn peace that 
made him look old beyond his years. 


25^ THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


“ Of what are you thinking, Michael?’’ 
he asked, gently laying his hand on the 
boy’s shoulder. 

“Oh, how good God is. Father; and 
everyone — yourself and Father Sebas- 
tiano and Mr. O’Donnell and Mrs. Olsen 
— oh, everyone — everyone. Father! And 
how pleased Father John will be when 
he hears the grand news I have to tell 
him!” 

“And you bear no one the least 
ill-will, Michael?” 

“ Ill-will ! O Father ! ” replied the boy, 
almost reproachfully. “It all happened 
natural. What could one expect? To 
me it seems like a miracle.” 

“God’s Providence is one continual 
miracle. Never forget it, Michael,” said 
Father Ramon, as he turned away. 



XXII. 


TWO LETTERS. 

Mt. St. Valerian, Cal. 

Noy. 18 , 1882 . 

Dear Father John: — Many queer 
things have happened to me since I 
wrote to yon the last time. Yon will 
think it strange to see the heading of 
this letter. I am more than two hnndred 
miles from S ; and this time a fort- 

night ago I no more dreamed of leaving 
it than yon’re thinking now of coming 
ont to America. Oh, bnt I wish yon 
conld, and see what a lovely place I’m 
in; and the grand halls, and the chapel 
with carved wooden stalls made by a 
Brother that has a wonderfnl talent for 
that kind of work! Bnt at this way 
of going on I’ll never get to my story. 

I sent yon a note for two ponnds, 
dear Father John. Did yon ever get 
it, and the letter that went with it? 
I haven’t heard from yon since. Bnt 
it’s time enongh; I’m forgetting how 

253] 


254 THE FORTUNES OP A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


long the distance is between us. A 
couple of days after I sent it, I went 
down to the store one morning (store 
is what they call it here in the place of 
shop). Mr. O’Donnell wasn’t feeling 
well at all; he had a pain in his hip, 
and it made him cross. He’s an old 
man. Father John, and he thought I 
was bold to him; but I didn’t mean 
to be. It was a mistake about some 
bad boys he thought I was running 
with, but I wasn’t. As I told you, 
the pain in his hip made him cross, 
and he turned me off. I felt so bad 
that I was like one dreaming as I 
walked home to my lodgings. I 
thought it would break my heart to 
leave the kind family I was stopping 
with. I was such a “greenhorn” that 
I thought I must leave my boarding 
mistress as well as my master at the 
same time. 

Mrs. Olsen and her daughter and the 
little boy were out visiting. The door 
was locked, and so I climbed in the 
window; and after I got my little 
bundle, I climbed out again, and left 
the window wide open. Then I went 
off— just rambling out to the hills, I 


TWO LETTERS. 


255 


didn’t know where, and didn’t much 
care. When the folks— isn’t that a 
queer word? But everyone says it 
here — well, when the folks came home 
and found the window open, they 
didn’t know what to think, afraid a 
thief might have been in. When they 
looked around, the drawer was open 
and the woman’s purse lying on the 
floor. What more natural than to 
think I took it. Father John, — I being 
a stranger, you know? It was lucky 
that the kind policeman found me — 
the same one that I wrote you about 
in the first letter. He took me to a 
place where I got shelter for the night; 
and I’ll tell you, dear Father, that to 
remember that nighty as I lay trying 
to sleep and not being able, and it not 
being either a very clean or quiet place, 
and being away from the good home I’d 
found, and the job being taken from me, 
and all, — I tell you. Father John, if I 
ever felt like doing a wrong thing, to 
remember that long, lonely night would 
keep me from it, I firmly believe, with 
the help of God and His Blessed Mother. 

Maybe it was because I prayed so 
hard that in the morning the priest— 


256 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

Father Ramon I wrote you of— got 
word of me, and came and took me 
to his own house. Then himself and 
a friend of his, named Father Sebas- 
tiano, who was stopping with him, 
but is vice-president of this college 
where I am now, asked me would I like 
to come here and get an education. And 
there was an old gentleman — a German, 
but as fine a gentleman as old Squire 
Mullens himself— olfered to pay a year’s 
schooling for me. He looks like St. 
Joseph, Father John; and he has a fine 
young man of a son, a lawyer in this 
place, and doing well. And it was found 
out that the money wasn’t stolen, but 
fell in a slit of the lining of the pocket- 
book. Mr. O’Donnell came, and was 
sorry he turned me away; and begged 
my pardon in the hall before I took 
him in to the parlor, where the priests 
were, after breakfast. I can’t tell you 
how ashamed it made me feel; for he 
thought he had a right, in the beginning 
of course, afraid I was going with bad 
company; though I tried to make him 
think I wasn’t— for I wasn’t. But the 
best in the world make mistakes some- 
times, and it was a good job in more 


TWO LETTEKS. 


257 


ways than one. Now that I’m over 
the trouble and grief, I’m thankful to 
God it all happened; for, besides its 
getting me a fine education. Mr. O’Don- 
nell took such a liking to the priest that 
he promised him he’d go to Mass 
regularly; and he went to his duty the 
Sunday before I came here, the first time 
in a good many years. 

And Mrs. Olsen came the same morn- 
ing, and was like a mother to me. She 
wanted me to go back to her house; and 
she said as long as there was a roof 
over her head I could have shelter under 
it. And Mr. O’Donnell had my place for 
me to go back to; but when they heard 
what Father Sebastiano was going to 
do for me, they were glad. Father 
Sebastiano told them that Mr. van 
Rossum would pay my schooling for a 
year; and that after that, if I was a 
good boy, he would keep me for nothing 
until I had an education. It was then 
Mr. O’Donnell made a fine offer you’ll 
scarcely believe, but it’s the truth. 
Father John. He said he would clothe 
me and pay for my books. What do 
you think? And the next day Mrs. van 
Rossum (she’s an old lady, with little 


258 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


white curls at the side of her cheeks) 
took me down town and bought me 
two fine suits of clothes, and plenty of 
underwear, and shoes and a hat, and a 
little box for my clothes (a trunk they 
call it in America), and a . brush and 
combs — everything I would need at 
school. And it was Mr. O’Donnell paid 
for them all. And he bought me a little 
round cap, for he said he liked me better 
in that; and I wore it up here. And Mrs, 
Olsen gave me two neckties; and Lena 
made me a needle-case, with a place for 
thread and buttons. She was afraid 
maybe there wouldn’t be any one here 
to mend things. But there is. We have 
six Sisters of Charity taking care of the 
younger boys. They live in a little 
house to themselves, and do all the 
mending. 

There was a crowd to see us off— Mr. 
O’Donnell and Mrs. Olsen and Lena and 
little Gustave, and a Mrs. Halligan and 
her nephew, that live in the same house 
with the Olsens; and Policeman Dono- 
van’s wife, for he was on duty himself 
and couldn’t come. And Mr. O’Donnell 
gave me a ten dollar gold piece for a 
year’s pocket-money; though what I 


TWO LETTERS. 


259 


will do with it, and my way paid, I 
can’t tell. And the night before Mr. 
Donovan came round to Father Ramon’s 
and he made me take a bright new silver 
dollar “for luck,” he said. I can’t think 
why everyone is so good and kind to 
me. Father John. Here it is just the 
same. ’Tis a lovely place on a little 
mountain; there’s a chain of great, high 
ones to the back of it. You’d think them 
very elose, but they’re as much as 
twenty miles away. There are more 
than a hundred boys here. They are all 
pretty good fellows, as far as I know. 
Some of them laugh and make fun of the 
“greenhorn,” as they call me; but they 
mean no harm, and I don’t mind. 

When I took leave of all the friends 
before going on the cars, I felt almost as 
lonely as I did when I left Ireland and 
you. Father John; only this time I knew 
where I was going, and that time I did 
not. It all depends on myself whether 
I’ll succeed or fail; and if I don’t succeed, 
after all that’s been done for me. I’ll be 
a very bad and ungrateful boy, both to 
Almighty God and the friends He’s 
raised up for me. In my next letter I’ll 
describe the place, and tell you what I 


260 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

am learning. I’ve been a long time at 
this — nearly a week between times, — 
and I think I’d better stop. 

Your affectionate child, 

Michael O’Donnell. 

N. B.: — Of all the people I ever saw, 
except yourself, since my mother — God 
rest her soul! — was released from her 
troubles, I like Father Ramon the best. 
He reminds me of a saint. Father John. 
Sometimes I think it’s St. John, and 
again I wonder if St. Patrick himseU 
mightn’t look like him when he was 
young. He isn’t like an Irishman at all 
in his looks, to be sure. But St. Patrick 
was a Frenchman, some say; and Father 
Ramon is Spanish, which isn’t much 
difference. But I believe it’s St. John he 
makes me think of the most. 

It is so cool and shady here, and every 
boy that wants can have a bit of gar- 
dening ground. I thought if you could 
send me a sprig of shamrock in a little 
box, well wetted and wrapped in cot- 
ton-batting (the Sister says that is the 
way she saw it done once). Maybe 
you’d send two little roots of shamrock 
off my father’s and mother’s graves. 
The Sister planted some that way, and 


TWO LETTERS. 


2Gi 


it’s growing fine. Oh, how glad I was 
to see it ! — though it’s not near as large 
as it would grow in Ireland. And if 
they wouldn’t grow, maybe a spray of 
ivy from the old church wall would turn 
well. If it’s not too much trouble, dear 
Father John, it would be something 
beautiful to have so far away in 
America. 

Asking your pardon for this long 
letter, I remain as ever, 

Michael. 

S , Cal., June 28, 1887. 

Dear Father John: — At last I am a 
full-fledged A. B., at your service. I 
will not deny that I was proud when 
I came down from the platform with 
my sheepskin tied with blue ribbon 
in my hand. I would have given a 
hundred dollars to have seen you sitting 
there with Mr. O’Donnell, who occupied 
the front row, and who, God bless him, 
furtively wiped his eyes as I passed. 
Mrs. Olsen was to have been there also, 
but little Gustave had a sore throat, 
and she was afraid to leave him, as 
Lena, her daughter, has just been 


262 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

married to a fine young man, and is 
away on a wedding tour. 

Well, dear Father John, I came off 
first in Greek, Latin, and mathematics; 
and I have three gold medals to show 
you. Yes, you may not be able to 
believe it all at once, but I expect to 
see you very soon. For a long time 
Mr. O’Donnell has been desirous of 
taking a trip to the old country; he 
thinks it will benefit his health, which 
is not very good; and. Father John, 
he has asked me to accompany him. 
What do you think of that? And after- 
ward, if I wish, I am to go to George- 
town, D. C., to the famous Jesuit Col- 
lege, and take a course of law. It is 
needless to say that I do wish it, 
though I can hardly believe in my own 
good luck. It is Mr. O’Donnell who has 
made me this fine offer; he has an idea 
that I will make a good lawyer because 
of some success I have had in the De- 
bating Society; and I prefer it to any 
other career, though I had no idea the 
means of compassing it would be 
granted me so soon. I am afraid 
Father Sebastian o has been giving him 
too high an estimate of my qualities. 


TWO LETTERS. 


263 


as well as of my qualifications; no one 
but myself can know how hard and 
how perseveringly I have had to study 
to hold my own with the bright Ameri- 
can boys here. 

It seemed like leaving home almost 
to part from the dear old Mount and 
the professors and the boys. The last 
glimpse I got as we rode away was 
of the south wall of the chapel, covered 
with the Irish ivy grown from the slip 
you sent me when I first came. The 
poor little shamrocks flourished for a 
while, then shrivelled up and died. I 
have a few leaves, pressed, in my 
prayer-book still. 

Mr. O’Donnell is just selling out his 
business; he does not intend to work 
any more. I fancy he is pretty well off. 
They live in a neat little place of their 
own; and his wife is the same gentle, 
kind-hearted, motherly woman I knew 
as Mrs. Olsen when I first came. Some 
people thought it a queer marriage, but 
I believe it was a good thing for both. 
She makes the old man happy, and he 
is a devoted husband to her. The little 
boy is very fond of his stepfather. I am 
sure he will have a splendid education. 


264 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 


Pie is a bright lad and very good. 

Father Ramon has an excellent con- 
gregation. He has worked wonders in 
the parish during the last six years. 
There is some talk of sending him to 
Mt. Valerian after vacation; he has 
been working too hard. The people 
will miss him if he is taken away, but 
it will be a grand thing for the boys. 
They will idolize him. My own feeling 
for him is one that grows deeper and 
warmer as I grow older; there is some- 
thing so beautiful in his whole char- 
acter. He was in the habit of coming 
about once a year to the Mount to 
enjoy a little vacation; he and Father 
Sebastiano are like brothers. To be a 
priest like that, Father John, — oh, it 
would be fine! But God has not given 
me the vocation, I think. 

How much there will be to talk about 
when we meet! And it will not be long 
now, D. V.; for we sail on the Brenda^ 
which leaves New York on the 12th 
of next month. We shall not have more 
than six weeks in Ireland, but wonders 
can be accomplished in that time. You 
will barely have had leisure to digest 
this news before you will see with your 


TWO LETTERS. 


265 


own eyes the boy to whom you were so 
kind, and whom you never thought to 
meet again. But I am almost a man 
now, dear Father John, — fully a man in 
height; for I stand five feet eleven in my 
stockings. About my father’s size — God 
rest his soul! — as I remember him. 

It is a little sad to be setting foot on 
one’s native land again without a single 
friend of one’s own blood to say “Wel- 
come home!” But you are there still, — 
you who were the friend God raised 
up to me when I was left alone. And 
I have been so fortunate in every other 
way that it behooves me to put all 
regrets aside, and feel only contented 
and grateful to those other friends that 
have been well tried and proven. I am 
like a son in this house. Father John. 
Nothing is too good for me. Mrs. 
O’Donnell is always making up nice 
little dishes for me, as though I were 
some delicate invalid, instead of a 
great, strong healthy boy. And no 
father could plan more for his eldest 
born than my adopted father does for 
me. I often think laughingly to myself 
that I have five or six fathers, if one can 
count by kindness. 


266 THE FORTUNES OF A LITTLE EMIGRANT. 

Some one is calling, “Michael, 
Michael, come down! It is time for the 
baseball match. The cars are full. We 
shall be late. ” You will know without 
my telling you that the voice is little 
Gustave’s. He is waiting for me to 
take him to see the game, to which I am 
nothing loath myself. 

Good-bye, then, dear Father John! 
pray God that we may have a safe 
voyage and a speedy meeting. 

Your devoted and affectionate 

Michael. 

If any of my readers should happen 
to be strolling through the business 

portion of the city of S , and should 

chance to pass Temple Court — a build- 
ing devoted to law offices and abstract 
companies, — they need not be surprised 
to learn that one of the most popular 
and prosperous firms there represented 
is that of Van Rossum & O’Donnell. 
And if— as is also possible, although less 
likely to occur — business should necessi- 
tate a call, they will meet with a 
courteous reception from either partner. 
And I scarcely believe that any who 
have followed the fortunes of little 
Michael from the beginning could fail 


TWO LETTERS. 


267 


to recognize in the tall, bronze-haired, 
muscular young man, with clear, pure 
eyes and brightly intellectual face, whose 
desk is near the north window, the 
brave little Irish lad who looked up so 
frankly and hopefully into the kindly 
face of Policeman Donovan, answering 
his questions in such a respectful yet 
manly way, at their first meeting on 
that dull, chilly October morning four- 
teen years ago. 






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